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THE HERMIT IN
GERMAN LITERATURE
(From Lessing to Eichendorff)
BY
JOHN FITZELL
CHAPEL HILL
THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA PRESS
1961.


830.9
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PREFACE
To Dr. Walter Silz, Gebhart Professor of German Literature at
Columbia University, I owe a frank and deep debt of gratitude. At
Princeton in the recent past, his guidance, encouragement, indeed,
his suggestion of the theme were responsible for my composing the
study upon which this monograph is based.
In citing literary works or other studies, as well as in referring to
them indirectly, I have indentified titles and authors clearly in
my text, while the page or line number, act and scene, or chapter
number, whichever was applicable, is bracketed next to the quo-
tation or reference which it locates. For the specific editions cited,
the reader is referred to the concise bibliography, arranged alpha-
betically by author and subdivided into (I) original texts and (II)
critical and reference works. Accordingly, a large collection of notes
is avoided in the hope that the body of the study may be rendered
more lucid.
Finally I should like to thank the German Quarterly for its generous
permission to include here material on Wieland's Oberon from an
article of mine originally published in its pages. I am grateful to
Dr. Kenneth Negus for his help in correcting proof, and I express
my sincere thanks to the Research Council of Rutgers University
for its generous grant in support of this study.
JOHN FITZELL





TABLE OF CONTENTS
. XI
1
INTRODUCTION
•
CHAPTER I THE HERMIT OF LITERARY TRADITION
Wolfram and Grimmelshausen.
CHAPTER II THE HERMIT AND SOCIETY
. 10
(1) Lessing: Der Eremit, p. 10 (2) Goethe: Satyros, p. 13
(3) Lenz: Die Kleinen, p. 19 (4) Klinger: Sturm und Drang,
p. 26 (5) Bürger: Der wilde Jäger, p. 31 (6) Lessing: Nathan
der Weise, p. 36 (7) Chamisso: Peter Schlemihl, p. 47.
CHAPTER III THE INNER CONFLICT
•
54
A. (1) Goethe: Erwin und Elmire, p. 54 (2) Lenz: Der Wald-
bruder, p. 59 (3) Klinger: Die Zwillinge, p. 64 (4) Brentano:
Godwi, p. 66 (5) Droste-Hülshoff: Walter, p. 71 (6) Le-
nau: Die Marionetten, p. 77.
B. (1) Klinger: Fausts Leben, Thaten und Höllenfahrt,
p. 80 (2) Wackenroder: Ein wunderbares morgenländi-
sches Märchen, p. 82 (3) Hoffmann: Serapion, p. 83.
CHAPTER IV THE HERMIT AND NATURE
·
88
(1) Wieland: Oberon, p. 88 (2) Hölderlin: Hyperion,
p. 95 (3) Novalis: Heinrich von Ofterdingen, p. 101 (4)
Schiller: Die Braut von Messina, p. 105 (5) Uhland: König
Eginhard, p. 106 (6) Kerner: Die Heimatlosen, p. 108 (7)
Goethe: Faust, p. 111 (8) Eichendorff: Eine Meerfahrt,
p. 114.
CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE OF WORKS.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
•
INDEX.
·
120
121
124





INTRODUCTION
A very strong penchant toward inwardness or "Innerlichkeit", a
tendency to withdraw from the outer, social world to the "world
within" is generally characteristic of German literature. Novalis
spoke for more than German Romanticism when he said, "Nach
innen geht der geheimnisvolle Weg. In uns oder nirgends ist die
Ewigkeit mit ihren Welten, die Vergangenheit und Zukunft." In
all literary genres of German literature in all periods we note a
concentration upon the inner reactions of the individual to the
forces at work outside him.
Indeed, the world is recreated from within and we see life revealed
and interpreted through a creative process in the individual per-
sonality. This is, to be sure, the very cardinal principle of artistic
expression. Nature and society appear as the very expressions of the
inner self in its longing for harmony with a higher order. Several
remarks by Fritz Strich in his essay, Natur und Geist der deutschen
Dichtung (Die Ernte: Franz Muncker zu seinem 70. Geburtstage -
see Bibliography), illustrate this idea very pointedly. Strich con-
trasts, for example, the nordic landscape with that of classical
Greece (p. 8), and says that the nordic landscape was not "mensch-
lich beseelt", that one could not imagine in it the presence of such
gods as those inhabiting the sunny hills and groves of Greece. He
later describes the Germanic gods as "nebelhaft", as "Wanderer",
and declares (p. 8), “Der Mensch konnte nicht nach aussen, sondern
musste nach innen gewendet sein." A subsequent passage in the
same essay contrasts Parzifal with Dante (p. 9). While Dante is led
by Virgil, the spirit of classicism, Parzifal searches out his way to
God along lonely, untrodden paths, guided only by the faith
("Triuwe" or "Hingabe") in his heart and the never-slacking power
of his will. Professor Strich sees the position of the German poet
thus (p. 20): "Seine Frage an die Welt ist die: wie wird sie von sei-
nem Helden erlebt, und so kommt es hier denn nur auf den inneren
Reichtum des Menschen an.” This contrast of classic and romantic
types (subsequently developed and expanded into a full volume)¹
derives actually from Ludwig Uhland's essay, Über die Romantik.
Indeed, Professor Strich literally paraphrases Uhland most fre-
1 Deutsche Klassik und Romantik, Bern 1949.
XI


quently without referring to him. Uhland's (and Professor
Strich's) conviction is not tenable - namely the conviction that the
dweller in Germanic landscapes had to turn inward because he had
not the clear outlines, the clear conceptions of gods as illumined in
the sunny climes of Greece. This theory stems largely, in fact,
from the lack of plastic art portraying the gods, for example, in the
North - a lack due in turn, rather to a scarcity of substantially per-
manent materials such as the marbles of the south. Those relics of
ancient Germanic art which remain are mostly small objects of
metal, otherwise wooden fragments, some carvings and inscriptions
on stone (cf. e. g. the illustrations in Jan de Vries' two volume
Altgermanische Religionsgeschichte).
Yet the figure of the hermit does embody the undeniably charac-
teristic inwardness attributed by Professor Strich to German litera-
ture and art (Dürer's St. Jerome), and it is therefore not surprising
that the recluse early became a favorite figure in literature. What
is surprising is that his character and role have not hitherto been
made the subject of more concentrated interpretation and inves-
tigation. This gap the present study seeks to fill.
The hermit must be defined as one who withdraws from society
to achieve a deeper understanding of life through solitary contem-
plation. The causes and circumstances of his withdrawal reveal to
varying extents his "Weltanschauung". Der grosse Brockhaus defines
hermits ("Anachoreten" or "Zurückgezogene", "Eremiten" or
"Einsiedler") as "in der Einsamkeit lebende Mönche im Christen-
tum seit Ausgang des dritten Jahrhunderts -." The lives of these
ascetics were characterized traditionally by "Ringen mit Sexual-
verdrängung, Phantasiegebilden, Dämonenkampf". Under “Welt-
flucht" we find in the Schweizer Lexikon the following definition:
"eine einsame Lebensweise frommer Menschen, die sich zu innerer
Sammlung und religiöser Übung einzeln (Einsiedler) oder gruppen-
weise (Mönchtum) in die (nie absolute) Abgeschiedenheit von der
Welt zurückgezogen haben, oft beeinflusst von einer pessimis-
tischen Beurteilung des Lebens in der Welt." These definitions we
shall see illustrated variously in our own subsequent investigations.
In his work, The Hermit in English Literature from the Beginnings
to 1660, (p. 18 ff. - see Bibliog.), Charles P. Weaver notes some ge-
neral distinctions between the anchorite and the hermit. The
anchorite was required to pass through a trial period of fasting and
prayer before being ceremoniously installed in his cell. The abode
of the anchorite was generally connected with a church or cloister.
His life was more strictly regulated than that of the hermit; the
anchorite could be attended by those who were committed to bring-
ing him the bare necessities of life, but he was dedicated to remain-
ing in his cell, secluded from the world, until death released him.
XII


The hermit removed himself to the forest or mountains to a life of
solitary contemplation, but, unlike the anchorite, he was not se-
verely confined to his dwelling. He occupied himself very often
with studies of various sorts - for example, the healing powers of
herbs and he could cultivate the land about his abode, even keep
animals. The hermit also provided hospitality to wanderers in need
of shelter, and he was not forced to forswear all contact with the
outside world. Unlike the anchorite, he was not, as a rule, of clerical
status. The distinctions between hermit and anchorite made by:
Weaver are valid also for German literature and his descriptions of
their modes of life are generally applicable, as we shall see, not only
to English, but to all solitaries in the Christian tradition. The first
two hermit figures to be discussed provide examples more than
adequate to support this conviction.
The criteria which we have used in selecting figures from a period
extending, roughly, from Lessing to the death of Goethe are two-
fold. First of all, the hermit figure, even if not plainly designated as
such, must voluntarily withdraw from society, although not ne-
cessarily permanently, at the same time revealing his motivation to
do so, and he must express a "Weltanschauung" (hence play an
important role in the work in which he occurs). Second, I have tried
to include only works which undeniably possess literary value and
interest. Perhaps we must apologize for a certain arbitrariness in
our choice of figures. The study does not claim completeness, yet
it is nearly so. Only two major works have been excluded - Tieck's
Sternbald and Eichendorff's Ahnung und Gegenwart. The solitaries
in these novels are represented better as types and presented more
interestingly as characters by the Brentano and Eichendorff works
in our study.
It has seemed most practical for concentrated analysis and inter-
pretation to arrange the works in comprehensive thematic-groups,
under rubrics which describe generally the themes associated with
the figures analysed. The works under each separate rubric are
chronologically arranged.
XIII


1
1


CHAPTER I
THE HERMIT OF LITERARY TRADITION
Wolfram's Parzifal and Grimmelshausen's Simplicissimus contain
the most important portrayals of the hermit in German literature
prior to the eighteenth century. These two works are in themselves
the most important single literary expressions of their respective
ages, the age of chivalry and the baroque era. The role of the hermit
in each of these works displays the characteristics of Goethe's
"Urpflanze" with all its potentialities of development. Indeed, many
of the qualities and themes associated with the hermits of these
works are revealed in similar figures by poets of subsequent periods
(particularly in Romanticism) varying, of course, with the individual
creative personality and the movement or age in which he writes.
Essential to an interpretation of the hermit's role in Wolfram's
poem is an understanding of his deepened concepts of "Minne" and
"Triuwe". For Wolfram these ideals represent psychological and
ethical values of a profoundly religious nature. Near the beginning
of the pivotal ninth book (Str. 435, 1. 79 ff.), Parzifal reencounters
his cousin, Sigune¹, who appears fittingly here as a female recluse
(Klausnerin) mourning her dead betrothed, Schionatulander. This
episode reveals with the utmost clarity and simplicity the profound
sense which the poet instills into "Minne" and "Triuwe". Sigune re-
tains scarcely a vestige of her former beauty, for she has withered in
her grief and in atonement for the caprice which sent Schionatulan-
der to his death in combat. This capricious vanity and its tragic re-
sult render Sigune guilty of corrupting the ideal of "Minne" as
understood in its usual courtly connotation. Now, in solitude, her
repentance and atonement are connected with Wolfram's concept
of a new and true "Minne" - (440, 1. 211 ff.)
"mîner jaemerlîchen zîte jâr
wil ich im minne geben für wâr;
der rehten minne ich pin sîn wer -."
The woman who remains loyal to her husband for the duration of
1.
Wolfram's choice of name has signifiance. In Germanic mythology, Sigune
was the wife of the fire god, Loki. When chained to a rock beneath the
dripping venom of a serpent, he was comforted by Sigune, who remained
loyally at his side to catch the poison in a cup.
И
Ziteliai
reiden
1


Reus
Licide
Larze
`his life fulfills the generally accepted ideal of “Minne” (436, 1. 100
ff.); yet after his death she would normally be free to bestow her
grace elsewhere. Sigune remains bound to Schionatulander in an
eternal "Minne" which embodies the deep sense of "Triuwe", con-
veying repentance and atonement.
This preliminary episode of the ninth book acts as an introduction
to Parzifal's stay with Trevrizent in that it clarifies the aspect of
atonement implicit in the full realization necessary for complete
repentance. Sigune, the recluse, expiates her guilt under the sign of
"Minne" which also becomes "Hingabe" (Triuwe). This is symbolized
in the ring, Schionatulander's pledge, which she still wears – (440,
1. 225) – "daz ist ob mîner triuwe ein sloz.'
-
""
Before considering the figure of Trevrizent and his role in the
poem, we must recall briefly the salient features of the "Gralgemein-
schaft". Although the society of the Grail is knightly in character, it
is so in the same sense in which Wolfram has deepened the ideal
of “Minne”. It represents a synthesis of the knightly and the purely
religious elements. The guardians of the Grail are knights, and
courtly ladies follow the Grail in procession. The sacred object,
itself, may be borne only by the purest maiden (Parzifal's aunt,
Repans de Schoie). There are no conventionally sacred symbols in
the society, for even the Grail, itself, is, at least outwardly, a kind
of stone. The traditional cross is nowhere apparent, although the
dove, which replenishes the powers of the Grail to maintain the
eternal youth of its guardians, assumes an equivalent importance.
Only the king is permitted to wed, while the knights must forswear
worldly "Minnedienst". Thus, religious and knightly ideals are
welded into a unique and deeply symbolic hierarchy over which
Parzifal is destined to reign (500, end).
When Trevrizent describes the folly of Anfortas and the conse-
quences of it, the reason for his own withdrawal and the purpose
in his life as a hermit are made plain. Anfortas, the youthful Grail
king, had committed excesses in the pursuit of "Minnedienst" which
were expressly forbidden by the Grail edict. The poisoned tip of a
heathen_lance had dealt him a wound which would not heal and
which left him suspended in a living death of unending pain. This
misfortune was felt to be a divine punishment, for all cures proved
to be of no avail (478, 1, 1363)
―
"swelch grâles hêrre ob minne gert
anders dann diu schrift in wert.
der muoz es komen ze arbeit
und in siufzebaeriu herzeleit."
Henceforth Anfortas has lived only in the hope of redemption
through the question which is to release him from his agony. Trevri-
sethint
2


1
zent has betaken himself to the forest to atone for his brother's sin
by rejecting knighthood and praying for him – (480, 1. 1420 ff.)
"dâ lobet ich der gotes kraft,
daz ich deheine rîterschaft
getaete niemer mêre,
daz got durch sîn êre
-
mînem bruoder hulfe von der nôt."
Trevrizent stands between Anfortas and Parzifal. On the one hand,
he atones for his brother's sin and prays for his redemption. On the
other hand, he is in the unique position of being able to make his
nephew conscious of the nature of his guilt - thus indirectly bringing
about the release of Anfortas through Parzifal.
The nature of Parzifal's guilt is inextricably involved with the
idea of his relationship to the Grail hierarchy, which Trevrizent
definitively clarifies. Parzifal's mother was the sister of Anfortas
and Trevrizent; Parzifal, himself, is the natural heir to the Grail,
since he is the only direct male descendant of the immediate ruling
family. The way to repentance is opened by Trevrizent when he
refers to the killing of Ither, and Parzifal admits, in turn, to being
the killer. His guilt consists of a kind of original sin, for it was not
wittingly incurred. His sins were three. He had killed Ither, his
kinsman by marriage, caused the untimely death of his mother by
deserting her (499), and he had not been moved to inquire the
reason for the suffering of Anfortas.
It must be emphasized that the major portion of Parzifal's guilt
lies precisely in the fact that he has harmed his own flesh and blood
and, through them, the Grail and God. Possessing the knowledge
which Trevrizent imparts to him. Parzifal can repent. Trevrizent ab-
solves his nephew (500, end)
-
"er sprach: gip mir dîn sünde her:
vor gote ich bin dîn wandels wer
""
and, by once more opening Parzifal's way to the Grail, he indirectly
accomplishes the salvation of Anfortas.
Just as the ideals "Minne" and "Triuwe" possess a deeper meaning
which is both worldly and religious, so, too, the Grail with its com-
pany represents a blending of chivalrous form and religious spirit.
Trevrizent, however, as a hermit, embodies this synthesis. Although
he impresses upon Parzifal the fact that he is a layman (462, 1. 881),
Trevrizent absolves his nephew of sin. In spite of the Grail edict
which forbids its knightly guardians to practice "Frauenminne”,
Trevrizent lauds the chivalrous life, and he describes in great detail
(495-500) and with pride his own earlier pursuit of "Aventiure”
3


throughout the known world. From his lips resound the familiar
lines, "swer schildes ambet ueben wil, der muoz durchstrichen
lande vil". There is no tone of contempt or criticism in his words
when he speaks of the society which he has given up, but rather
praise of it and pride in his past experience (even though Trevrizent
has been only less guilty than Anfortas in forgetting the edict of the
Grail).
Yet he has rejected the practice of knighthood and withdrawn as
a hermit to atone for his brother's guilt. This function of hermithood
as a vicarious atonement for other men's sins is, of course, akin to
the conceptions of Christ and of sainthood; it is a theme frequently
encountered in connection with other figures also (cf. Lenz's Die
Kleinen - Chap. II). The synthesis of the worldly and the religious
elements in Trevrizent render him qualified to act as Parzifal's
spiritual tutor and to lift from him frustration and guilt of the past.
While Trevrizent stands in the center of Wolfram's poem, the
figure of the hermit is encountered at the outset and at the conclu-
sion of Grimmelshausen's Simplicissimus. Even though we have the
father as a hermit at the beginning of the novel, and the son at the
end, it may be said that the conception of the hermit, as such, forms
a frame around the violently colorful, but chaotic age which Grim-
melshausen so vividly brings to life. This significant detail in the
form of the novel expresses a great deal about the author's reaction
to his times. Grimmelshausen lived in no such period as Wolfram's
with its firmly established knightly culture. Instead he saw a world,
in which human values were utterly disregarded, quaking at its
ethical foundations.
The hermit (Simplicius' father, who is introduced in Book I,
chapter six) renounces the world completely because of disgust and
horror for it built up through the sad experiences of his past. To
save his soul, he dedicates his remaining years to preparing for the
life to come. His son, of whose identity he is unaware, cannot ben-
efit fully by the religious instruction imparted to him because he
has been reared in ignorance and in conditions only slightly above
the animal. It is necessary for Simplicius to experience war and the
degeneration of every sort that accompanies it until there is pro-
duced in him precisely the same horror and fear for his soul that
drove his father into solitude.
Although the scriptural lessons and the last advice of the hermit
to Simplicius have no immediate practical meaning for the in-
experienced lad, he is (like Parzifal in his reaction to his mother's
advice) impressed by them and they remain with him throughout his
worldly life. Their full effect is realized when Simplicius, himself,
rejects the world and its vanities.
We know from the pastor's account (I, ch. 22) how Simplicius'
4


father, a high-ranking officer, arrived at the parsonage door in the
dead of night, his rich dress spattered with blood, sword still in
hand, after the battle at Höchst. Later the governor of Hanau in-
forms the pastor (I, ch. 23) that he had believed his brother-in-law
dead. He had sent out soldiers to find his sister, only to discover that
she had been abducted by imperial cavalry and taken, in turn, from
them by peasants in the Spessart.
The heartbroken officer was in despair because of the lost battle,
because he had lost his wife after only one year of marriage together
with the child she was about to bear, and because he, himself, had
not perished defending the gospel. He turned over all his worldly
possessions to the pastor, even including the golden chain with a
miniature of his wife, which he exchanged for the pastor's wagon
chain - a complete renunciation of the life he had known. With only
a few household utensils and a miserable wool blanket to cover his
nakedness, he left for the most obscure part of the forest. The pas-
tor sums up the motives of the recluse, when he says to Simplicius
(I, ch. 22), "Sein geistiger Sinn und widerwertige Begegnüssen
hemmeten endlich den Lauff seiner weltlichen Glückseligkeit so,
dass er seinen Adel und ansehenliche Güter in Schotten, da er ge-
bürtig, verschmähet und hindann setzet, weil ihm alle Welthandel
abgeschmack, eitel und verwerfflich vorkamen. Er verhoffte, mit
einem Wort, seine gegenwärtige Hoheit umb eine künftige bessere
Glory zu verwechseln, weil sein hoher Geist einen Eckel an allem
zeitlichen Pracht hatte und sein Dichten und Trachten war nur nach
einem solchen erbärmlichen Leben gerichtet, darinn du ihn im Wald
angetroffen und biss in seinen Todt Gesellschaft geleistet hast."
(The pastor also supposes that the hermit may have been influenced
in this direction by the reading of "popish" books about the lives of
ancient hermits.) The motivation for hermithood in this case is a
"Verleidung der Welt" - as well as the "jenseitig" - Christian urge
to prepare for a better life after death; this hermit figure is, to a
large extent, explainable by the terrible conditions in Germany
during the period of the Thirty Years War.
Simplicius learns much later through a chance meeting with his
"Knan" (V, ch. 8) that his spiritual father was in fact his real sire,
"Capitain" Sternfelss von Fuchsheim. After the battle at Nörd-
lingen, Susanna Ramsay, the Hanau governor's sister, and mother
of Simplicius, had escaped from the imperial troops in the neighbor-
hood of Simplicius' boyhood home. The "Knan" was no sooner able
to help her from her horse and procure the aid of his wife and hired
girls, than the unfortunate lady perished in child-birth leaving a
legacy of some jewelry for her son, whom she committed into the
peasant's care.
It is necessary to bear in mind with regard to Simplicius' develop-
5


ment and Grimmelshausen's "Weltanschauung" that the ignorance
of the hero is almost a prerequisite for the eventual assimilation of
the hermit's instruction. Simplicius readily grasps reading and
writing, and he also grasps the importance of the lessons in religion.
The message of the religious instruction can only become clear in
proportion as the hero becomes worldly-wise. This is its limitation,
by nature, and, at the same time, its value. Simplicius is profoundly
impressed by the hermit's tutelage; of that there can be no doubt
so much so, that these lessons eventually decide the outcome of his
life (I, ch. 9) "denn dass ich alles so bald gefasst, was mir der
fromme Einsidel vorgehalten, ist daher kommen, weil er die ge-
schlichte Tafel meiner Seelen gantz laer und ohn einige zuvor hinein
gedrückte Bildnüssen gefunden –”.
-
The hermit realizes that his young charge is not likely to remain
alone in the forest when he, himself, has died and before lying down
in his grave he recapitulates the ideas which he wishes imprinted
upon the open pages of the boy's soul (I, ch. 12). Instead of scream-
ing and howling at their parting, Simplicius is to remember, even
though he grow as old as Methusalah, that he must never cease
trying to know himself for what he is – for the basic reason under-
lying the damnation of all is that men recognize neither what they
have been, nor what they might have become. Simplicius must also
avoid evil society and remain constant and true to himself under all
circumstances; he who persists in these principles to the end of his
life will become blessed and, like the phoenix of Grimmelshausen's
frontispiece verses, be reborn through fire.
-
For Simplicius, the hermit exemplifies these moral lessons. He has
learned to know himself and consequently he has virtually shunned
not only the temptations of all human company, but he has also
fled from the world, itself – (I, ch. 12)” – ist auch in solchem Vor-
satz biss an das Ende verharret, an welchem ohn Zweiffel die See-
ligkeit hangt -.”
-
Throughout the myriad adventures in which he vacillates between
good and evil, the hero is never actually in doubt as to what is right,
for the seed planted by his hermit father had taken root in his
conscience, and kept it alive. As a marauding mercenary, Sim-
plicius is always horrified by the depravity of his evil genius, Olivier,
while, in the company of Hertzbruder, he also acutely perceives his
own shortcomings. In the opening chapter of the fifth and final
book, Simplicius and Hertzbruder make a pilgrimage to Einsiedeln,
and Hertzbruder insists that they walk with peas in their shoes as
part of their penance. Simplicius cooks his peas in Schaffhausen and
arrives comfortably in Zurich, where Hertzbruder discovers his
friend's deceit. Simplicius had undertaken the journey only for the
sake of accompanying Hertzbruder and with no thought of penance
6


for his past sins. Hertzbruder warns him that his soul is in danger,
and that their friendship cannot continue while Simplicius refuses to
better himself in the eyes of God.
Immediately the past wells up before his eyes and he thinks of the
copious evil pranks which he has executed. Following Hertzbruder
in humility, he laments inwardly the innocence lost when he came
out of his hermit's forest abode into a corrupt and depraved world.
In the Mummelsee episode (V, ch. 12-17) the chaos which mankind
has created in the world is contrasted with the divine order of nature.
The hero comes to the lake spirits who are, in a sense, personified
natural forces. They are not transitory spirits, for their existence is
as constant as that of earth. Yet, although they are free of all the
ills which beset mankind, they possess no eternal soul, no poten-
tiality of attaining heavenly bliss, as does man, who seems to
concentrate upon deserving damnation. The king of the Mummelsee
sylphs is deeply troubled over the question of future existence, since,
if mankind in its depravity so angers God that He brings the world
to an end, nature, itself, must logically perish. The king demands
to know the truth about man's behaviour and Simplicius lies to him.
The various callings of society, the classes, the trades – all of them
he describes as carrying out their offices in the most exemplary
manner, but Simplicius concludes his account (V, ch. 15, end) with
bitter sarcasm which transparently lets the truth shine through.
There is no lassitude in serving God, but, rather, all men vie with
one another in attempting to do so in the most righteous manner
for that very reason the world is disrupted by religious wars. Each
party insists that the other is on the wrong path. There are no more
misers to be met with, but only the thrifty, no spendthrifts, but,
instead, the generous. One finds no cutthroats robbing and mur-
dering, only soldiers who protect their native land. Beggars are now
those who despise riches and love voluntary poverty.
---
The burden of the episode (and of the novel) is that the evils of
society constitute a crime against nature and the divine order. After
travels throughout the European continent, Asia, and upon the sea,
concluding with pilgrimages to Rome and to Loreta in Spain, Sim-
plicius turns to his books. All of these experiences serve only to
ripen in him the resolution to save his soul as his father did by re-
jecting the world.
When he reads the advice of the apollonian oracle to the Roman
legates, "Nosce te ipsum", his hermit-father's last words (I, ch. 12)
echo out of the forest of his bygone innocence. Simplicius sees
himself (V. 23) "Solches (Erkenne dich selbst!) machte, dass ich
mich hindersonne und von mir selbst Rechnung über mein geführtes
Leben begehrte; weil ich ohne das müssig war, da sagte ich zu mir
selber, dein Leben ist kein Leben gewesen, sondern ein Todt, deine
--
7


Tage ein schwerer Schatten, deine Jahr ein schwerer Traum, deine
Wollust schwere Sünden, deine Jugend eine Phantasey und deine
Wolfahrt ein Alchimisten Schatz, der zum Schornstein hinauss
fährt -."
-
At the conclusion of the novel, Simplicius cites the words of
Guevara, a Spanish novelist whom he has been reading; they im-
press him by their force and conviction, and express adequately a
summation of his own experience (V, ch. 24) "Alsdenn wird die
arme Seel sagen: Verflucht seystu Welt! weil ich durch dein An-
stifften Gottes und meiner selbst vergessen und dir in aller Uppig-
keit, Bossheit, Sünd und Schand die Tag meines Lebens gefolgt
hab." Thus, like his father, Simplicius thrusts human society from
him, and becomes a hermit to save his soul from otherwise certain
damnation.
The principal point of contrast between the figures of Trevrizent
and Simplicius is illuminated by their respective motives for reject-
ing society. Trevrizent becomes a hermit to atone for his brother's
sin. In his action there is no criticism of the world as he has known it.
To give up the knightly life, as such, is, for Trevrizent, a personal
sacrifice which he willingly brings in service to a higher ideal (the
Grail) embodying the purest elements of knighthood and the spirit
of Christ. By their departure from a chaotic and corrupt world,
Simplicius and his father proclaim the unconquerable vitality of the
individual to look into himself and save the soul from damnation.
Thus, we may say that Trevrizent's withdrawal represents a
positive aspect of hermithood, while that of Simplicius and his father
represents a negative one. The positive aspect in Parzifal has its
roots in the idealistic world of knighthood and the negative aspect
in Simplicissimus is a product of the sordid, savage world of the
Thirty Years War - the hermit figure becomes very frequently a
social "Gradmesser", a criterion of historical and social conditions.
Trevrizent is a hermit in the service of a high ideal, while, for
Simplicius and his father, living is a struggle to attain personal
salvation. For Trevrizent the knightly life, although praiseworthy
for its own sake, is also dedicated to an ideal even more sublime. For
Simplicius earthly life is a marsh of sin from which the soul must
learn to extricate itself at all costs.
There are many characteristics which are common to both Trevri-
zent and Simplicius. Most obvious, but none the less significant, is
the fact that both flee into solitude where the soul is closest to the
pervading spirit. Both Trevrizent and Simplicius become hermits
after having lived lives rich in experience (whether it be recalled
with pride and nostalgia, or in horror and contempt).
The hermits of both Wolfram and Grimmelshausen (Simplicius'
father) act as educators qualified by full knowledge of the world.
8


In both the epic of chivalry, Parzifal, and the baroque novel, Sim-
plicissimus, the hermits are closely related to the characters upon
whom they exercise decisive influence. The hermits in both of these
works spend the remainder of their lives humbly close to nature,
nourishing themselves with herbs and acorns and such vegetables
as they are able to cultivate around their mean dwelling places.
Above all, they each comprise a most concentrated presentation of
the individual in conflict with the collective aspect of the world and,
of course, too, with his own soul.
Many of the characteristic themes and motifs associated with the
figures examined in this chapter are given deeper and more poetic,
psychological, or metaphysical significance, especially in Storm and
Stress and Romanticism, where, for example, the role of nature
assumes such profound meaning.
9


CHAPTER II
THE HERMIT AND SOCIETY
This phase of our study deals with those works illustrating the
relationship of the hermit to society and the causes for his with-
drawal from it; it deals, also, with the poet's conception of the
hermit in contrast to specific aspects of the world about him.
Naturally, in certain works, such as Satyros or Sturm und Drang,
the role and the interpretation of nature supply the cause area of
conflict between the hermit and society, while in Sturm und Drang
it is the reaction to an aspect of society which leads Blasius to the
discovery of a dynamic nature - and it must be emphasized that
this characteristic discovery is surely the most significant contri-
bution of the Storm and Stress to the interpretation of individual
experience in the entire Goethe period. The importance of the
hermit figure, in this part of the study, lies in his relationship to
society, his reaction to it, and the consequent direction which he
takes.
(1) Lessing's little tale in verse, Der Eremit, is by no means one of
his more significant artistic creations, yet it does have a relative
importance which is not at first apparent. Even at the age of twenty
(1749) when the poem was written, Lessing was already inclined
toward the humanistic-religious thinking which was to attain its
full artistic fruition in Nathan der Weise. (Two other works of a
serious religious nature were conceived during this same early
period of activity as a critic in Berlin - Die Religion, a didactic poem
with "Vorerinnerung" and the first of his theological essays, Ge-
danken über die Herrnhüter.)
The figure of the hermit, himself, shows none of the traits associ-
ated, for example, with Trevrizent or Simplicissimus. In fact,
Lessing's hermit is as much the butt of his creator's wit as is the
society with which he unfortunately comes into contact. We do not
learn the reasons for his initial rejection of the world, nor can we
characterize his attitude toward society as other than that of a
charlatan. The poet's interest in the characters in the poem is that
of a critical narrator and commentator who stands outside the course
of development; we do not, in this instance, perceive the world as
inwardly experienced by the hermit, but, rather, we see the effect of
the hermit as a poseur upon a weak and susceptible society.
له
10


3
His mode of life (1. 25-40) follows the traditions we have already
observed in the definitions in the introduction. He dwells in a tiny,
bare hut in the thick of the forest, and, taking no meat or wine, he
subsists on roots and water (like Trevrizent and Simplicissimus).
The tone of the verses seems to reveal that the acts of religious
devotion which the hermit performs are nothing more than sham –
entirely devoid of any deeper meaning -
(1. 27 ff.)
"Was je ein Eremit getan,
Fing er mit grösstem Eifer an.
Er betete, er sang, er schrie,
Des Tags, des Nachts, und spät und früh."
He scourges himself until he bleeds, fasts, and stands on one foot
in his spurious efforts to attain heavenly bliss.
As might be expected, the zeal of the young hermit soon becomes
known to the inhabitants of near-by Kerapolis (or “Hörnerstadt”).
The first of the many pilgrims to the hermitage is a trembling, el-
derly woman on crutches. She spreads the reputation of the hermit
among the women of the city, who come to consider the pilgrimage
to the holy man a cardinal prerequisite of true piety -
(1. 77 ff.) "Der ist verloren und verflucht,
Der unsern Eremiten nicht besucht!"
Consequently, the young and pretty women of the city also follow
their neighbor's example in the edification of the soul. To the old
and ugly the hermit speaks of death, vanity, and reverence, and to
the poor of heavenly joy, but, with his pretty visitors, he speaks of the uply
7
love, the basic Christian virtue. This concept, however, is quickly
stripped of its spiritual value, and brought down to a fleshly niveau.
When the young women visit him, the hermit shows his true nature -
(1. 163 ff.)
"Ich hätte manchmal mögen sehn,
Was die und die, die an den Wallfahrtsort
Mit heiligen Gedanken kam,
Für fremde Mienen an sich nahm,
Wenn der verwegne Eremit
Fein listig, Schritt vor Schritt,
Vom Geist aufs Fleisch zu reden kam."
Of course the good women are shocked at first but they quickly
succumb -
(1. 174 ff.) "Allein, dass die Versöhnung ausgeblieben,
Glaub ich und, wer die Weiber kennt,
Nicht eher, als kein Stroh mehr brennt."
11


Ratsherren!
2?
6)
The sense of pride and shame of these women is no more deep-seated
than their piety, while the hermit, in spite of his show of Christian
devotion, is a lascivious charlatan by whom an entire community
permits itself to be seduced. He is a figure such as Lessing may have
had in mind when he said, "Wenn der Teufel und ein Eremite lange
beisammen leben, so wird entweder der Teufel ein Eremite, oder
der Eremite ein Teufel werden" (Lessings Werke, Bd. X, Nachlass,
p. 326).
The hermit manages to prolong his activities for well over a year.
His infamy is finally disclosed to the judge by two girls who are
jealous of their mothers - to comment upon such acid irony would
be superfluous. When the hermit is brought before the court, the
men of the community are ridiculed by the judge. The latter pro-
mises to mitigate the hermit's punishment if he will give the names
of the ladies whom he has known. The judge is motivated solely by
a sadistic desire to see his neighbors squirm in embarassment. He
wrongly believes his own wife to be innocent, since she had paid only
one visit to the "Waldseraph"
-
(1.264 ff.) "Denk immer so, zu deiner Ruh,
Lacht gleich die Wahrheit und der Dichter,
Und deine fromme Frau dazu.”
Prompted by the judge's insistence, however, the holy man reveals
the piety and virtue of his wife also to be only illusory.
The poet suffixes a moral to his poem -
-
(1. 307, ff.) "Wer seines Nächsten Schande sucht,
Wird selber seine Schande finden!
Nicht wahr, so liest man mich mit Frucht
Und ich erzähle sonder Sünden?"
The purpose of the moral is ostensibly to transform the tale from a
"Weibermärchen" (derived from the Facetiae of Poggio) to a respect-
able "Lehrgedicht." It is clear, nevertheless, that the moral is
completely superfluous to the real essence of the poem, which is not
to be found in the contemptible efforts of the judge to scandalize his
townsmen. This moral seemingly shifts the weight of the poet's at-
tack from the hermit and his devotees to the judge, by making the
latter the subject of a joke.
The essence of the poem is rather in the attack upon false piety
and the empty display of virtue; the hermit is the instrument of
this attack. The weakness of the women of Kerapolis is typical of
the sham Christianity which, put to the test, betrays a behaviour
quite opposed to all pious pretenses. The hermit, himself, is the
motivating personality of the tale. He is the very embodiment of
hypocrisy through his pretense of holiness. Later, in the person of
12


the Patriarch in Nathan der Weise, Lessing was to launch, from
another angle, a much sharper and more serious attack on sham
Christianity.
The objective delineation of the hermit figure in this early poem
and the purpose for which it is used are quite typical of Lessing's
"Aufklärung" attitude toward bigotry and hypocrisy in general.
The poem satirizes human gullibility (and feminine frailty) in gener-
al, but it is quite specifically a Voltairean attack on church and
priesthood. Lessing's stand is that of the seeker after truth and, as
we have already suggested, the little poem represents a milestone in
11
this particular direction of his thinking,
(2) In contrast to Lessing's iconoclastic rationalism, the advent
of "Storm and Stress" conclusively placed the accent in German
literature once more upon the expression of emotion and experience
through feeling. Nature became a mirror of life, itself. Goethe's
little drama, Satyros, presents a humorous conflict based upon two
interpretations of nature as religion. The figure of the hermit is
the protagonist of Goethe, himself, while Satyros, the antagonist, is,
perhaps, the Herder of Goethe's Strassburg period (Max Morris,
Der junge Goethe, Vol. 6, p. 309), disparaging toward the efforts of
the young poet, yet expecting unwavering worship in return. On
another level, the little comedy becomes a medium for Goethe's
"Auseinandersetzung" with the more extreme aspects of "Storm
and Stress". The hermit is the exponent of a true understanding of
nature and Satyros is the false prophet of an exaggerated primi-
tivism; he dupes the people into deifying him. Goethe's hermit, as
opposed to Lessing's, is wronged and persecuted both by Satyros and
by the misled Arcadian community.
In his opening speech, the hermit explains his reasons for deserting
city life to dwell alone among the eternal beauties of nature. He
has not removed himself from the city explicitly because of his
distaste for the standards of behaviour there; indeed, the vanity of
that life would have served to amuse him
(1.5-8)
-
"Ich hab mich nicht hierher begeben,
Weil die in Städten so ruchlos leben
Und alle wandeln nach ihrem Trieb,
Der Schmeichler, Heuchler und der Dieb:
Das hätt mich immerfort ergetzt, -."
It is, rather, the arrogant and uncompromising attitude of these
city-dwellers, which has driven him to the rich solace of nature; the
city-dwellers demand unqualified respect precisely for their hypo-
crisy -
t
л
13


(1. 9 ff.)
"Wollten sie nur nicht sein hochgeschätzt,
Bestehlen und be - mich wie die Raben,
Und noch dazu Reverenzen haben!
Ihrer langweiligen Narrheit satt,
Bin herausgezogen in Gottes Stadt, -.'
""
This hermit perceives nature as a representation of life in all its
myriad activity, as a cosmos. Nature is, to him, "Gottes Stadt",
full of living images of fertility, of continuous creation and recrea-
tion ("Werden"). The verses given here to the hermit constitute an
early exposition of Goethe's "Naturanschauung" - and one of his
most charming expressions of it. Nature is not the booty of Phil-
istines (“der steif Philister") to be trammeled and violated for the
course pleasure of base tastes.
-
The hermit sees the blossoms and buds of spring, the promise of
plenty. He describes the activity of the smallest of creatures, each
a moving, creating, developing glint in the mosaic of nature -
"Da lockt uns denn der Sonnenschein,
(1.26 ff.)
Storch und Schwalb aus der Fremd herein,
Den Schmetterling aus seinem Haus,
Die Fliegen aus den Ritzen raus
Und brütet das Raupenvölklein.
Das quillt all von Erzeugungskraft,
Wie sich's hat aus dem Schlaf gerafft;
Vogel und Frosch und Tier und Mücken
Begehn sich zu allen Augenblicken,
Hinten und vorn, auf Bauch und Rücken,
Dass man auf jeder Blüt und Blatt
Ein Eh- und Wochenbettlein hat.
Und sing ich dann im Herzen mein
Lob Gott mit allen Würmelein -.'
""
That is the pulsing, kaleidoscopic world, endlessly recreating itself,
which the hermit has made his own. It is, we may say, the basis of
his religion, for all of it reveals a sense of eternal purpose. In these
surroundings the hermit lives in peace, tending his garden and fruits,
and protecting them from frost, caterpillars, and the dry heat of
summer. Outwardly he presents a traditional conception of the
recluse. The inward experiencing of nature depicted above, how-
ever, is new, profound, and typical of Goethe. It is the hermit's
world of nature, his religion, which is opposed by that of Satyros,
who embodies much of the exaggeration which was present in
"Storm and Stress" thinking and writing.
The hermit acts fully in accordance with his mode of life when he
takes the injured Satyros into his hut, for it was customary, as we
14


have seen (Introduction), for the recluse to offer hospitality and
aid to those in need of it. The animal qualities which motivate
Satyros' lust (not love) for the natural life are suggested by his
agonized howling outside the hut. The hermit supposes it to be
that of some wounded beast. The absolute lack of any ground for
basic understanding between Satyros and the hermit is made clear
by the thankless, arrogant behaviour of the former (1. 60-71 ff.).
Satyros criticizes the poverty and simplicity of the good hermit's
household; he demands wine and fruit, and is indignant at the
hermit's offer of milk and bread. The bestial character of Satyros
and his interpretation of nature as an element to be plundered for
the satisfaction of his own ego illustrate an attitude toward the
world strongly opposed to the deeply natural harmony in which the
hermit lives.
Satyros calls the abode of the hermit a "Hundelagerstatt" and
"ein's Missetäters Folterbett". Left alone to rest by the hermit, the
point-eared villain gives vent to the contempt in which he holds his
benefactor. His feelings reveal in exaggerated form the "Storm and
Stress" desire to revolt against accepted traditions. Here Satyros
shows his distaste for the symbolic object of the hermit's devotion –
(1. 103 ff.) "Da ist dem Kerl sein Platz zu beten.
Es tut mir in den Augen weh,
Wenn ich dem Narren seinen Herrgott seh!"
Satyros would rather set in place of the hermit's crucifix an onion.
He would substitute a tangible (and edible) symbol of nature which
he cen grasp for one which signifies a power greater than his, and
which is therefore incomprehensible to him -
(1. 106 ff.)
"Wollt lieber eine Zwiebel anbeten,
Bis mir die Thrän in die Augen träten,
Als öffnen meines Herzens Schrein
Einem Schnitzbildlein, Querhölzelein.
Mir geht in der Welt nichts über mich:
Denn Gott ist Gott, und ich bin ich."
He steals a cloth from the hermit to cover his wild nakedness from
any maidens he may encounter, hurls the crucifix into the river
(revolt against the order worshipped by the hermit), and stealthily
sneaks off.
Satyros pours all the seductive power of spring into his song at the
well (1. 134 ff.), and it embodies the fertile drive of procreating
nature which was expressed in the hermit's opening monologue.
Satyros' song, however, stresses the sultry, intangibly sensuous
aspect of it. The spell of his music and his animal impetuosity
enchant the naive, innocent Psyche; only Arsinoe (and later her
15


mother, Eudora) is shrewd enough to perceive Satyros for what he
is -
(1. 148 ff.)
Psyche
"Welch göttlich hohes Angesicht!
Arsinoe
Siehst denn seine langen Ohren nicht?"
Just as the force of his animal passion overcomes Psyche, so the
power of Satyros' speech and the wildness of his appearance impress
the people who follow Hermes and his daughter, Arsinoe, to see the
strange nature god. Satyros wishes them to discard their unnatural
clothing and to cease acting as slaves to custom. They are to
emerge from the imprisonment of their houses, and live as in the
golden age of natural man. Trees will be their tents, the grass their
carpet, and raw chestnuts their food-
(1.274)
"Und rohe Kastanien ein herrlicher Frass -!"
The crowd, moved, but not grasping the sense of the speech (a
take-off on Rousseau's cult of "raw nature"), seizes upon the only
tangible prospect which comes to the surface of Satyros' torrent of
words raw chestnuts. Then, completely overwhelmed by his
turbulent delineation of the creation, the gullible people proclaim
the half-animal to be their god (1. 288-316).
When the good hermit appears, and accosts his erstwhile guest as
an ill-tempered, disgraceful beast, the two exponents of nature
stand face to face. The hermit, as we have seen, sees nature as the
revelation of God's ceaseless creation and inviolate order, while
Satyros, the hypocritical god of bestial feeling, conceives of all
nature as the nourishment of his ego -
(1. 169 ff.)
"Mein ist die ganze weite Welt,
Ich wohne, wo mir's wohl gefällt;
Ich herrsch übers Wild und Vogelheer,
Frucht auf der Erden und Fisch im Meer."
The thoroughly impetuous behaviour of the people illustrates the
danger of unrestrained feeling and its effect upon a mass personality.
In a state of blind irrationality, into which Satyros has led them,
they wish to put the hermit to death for blasphemy against their
newfound god. The hermit is saved by Hermes' wife, the clear-
sighted Eudora, who tempts Satyros into the temple. As soon as her
cries are heard, Hermes and his fellowers discover Satyros attempt-
ing to embrace her; only then do they clearly see their god as the
beast he actually is.
The hermit with his deep insight into nature is misunderstood by
the people as a group; Eudora, alone, in whose house he is impris-
16


oned, sympathizes with him and distinguishes between the truth of
his way of life and that of Satyros -
(1.373)
"Dich um des Tiers Willen töten!"
The hermit, however, is resigned to his fate, for he knows well the
ways of life and the world -
-
(1. 370 ff.) "Sie glauben. Lass sie! Du wirst nichts gewinnen.
Das Schicksal spielt
Mit unsrem armen Kopf und Sinnen."
In his resignation, he is prepared to pardon the society which perse-
cutes him; he recognizes in the behavior of the people the same de-
sire to comprehend life which in him has been fulfilled –
(1.374 ff.) "Wer sein Herz bedürftig fühlt,
Findt überall einen Propheten."
Unlike Lessing's hypocritical "Eremit" who plays upon the false
piety and weakness of the citizens of Kerapolis, Goethe's hermit is
persecuted by a deluded society in the throes of a nature "Schwär-
merei". Goethe's recluse has discovered the deep truths of life in
nature to which the people have been blinded by the very heat of
their desire to find them - Goethe's little farce has serious, often
tragic undertones.
When death seems inevitable to him, the hermit has only one spe-
cific regret. He has lived for one purpose, to acquire the deep
knowledge of nature which he now possesses, and, perhaps, to pass
it on to a happier race of men –
(1. 438 ff.)
"Doch das schmerzt mich nur,
Dass ich die tiefe Kenntnis der Natur
Mit Müh geforscht und leider! nun vergebens;
Dass hohe Menschenwissenschaft
Manche geheimnisvolle Kraft
Mit diesem Geist der Erd entschwinden soll."
This hermit would wish to teach each of the people, individually,
some single bit of the profound knowledge which he has absorbed
(1.447-450). His insight into nature is an individual experience
acquired through a refinement of the senses to the creative harmony
round about him. The truth of life, as he knows it, cannot be mass-
experienced; the mass drunkenness of feeling which Satyros arouses
in the people as a whole is an illusory religion. The hermit expresses
this, when he says –
(1. 448 ff.) "Ich wollte jeden sein eigen Kunststück lehren,
Einen jeden eins:
Denn was alle wissen, ist keins.-
17


Thus Goethe's solitary very nearly becomes a martyr for his individ-
ual belief which is incomprehensible to the people as a whole. The
material of conflict in the play, as we have said, is the incompatibil-
ity between two concepts of nature as religion. The hermit reveals
in his personality the deep insight into divine order which is the
fruit of inward intimate experience (“Erlebnis"); Satyros represents
the violently exaggerated emotionalism ("Masslosigkeit") of more
conventional "Storm and Stress", which has its most direct effect
collectively. The hermit's conception of nature is a revelation of
eternal harmony, while Satyros' animal turbulence is a travesty on
divine order. (This conflict also very clearly points to Goethe's own
subjugation of the more extreme elements of "Storm and Stress"
in himself.)
-
Several characteristics and themes associated with this hermit
figure are especially noteworthy. The hermit in Satyros is (unlike
Lessing's, but more like Trevrizent or Simplicissimus) a carefully
drawn individual personality – not merely a type. (He is a self-
portrait of young Goethe on the side of his fervent adoration of
nature.) He embodies the profound conception of nature as a
creative cosmos, a revelation of eternal harmony of which he, as an
individual, is an integral part. We have also observed his desire to
impart some of this knowledge to his fellow-men (as in Hyperion,
where, however, the theme is the development of the hero's concep-
tion of nature and the awareness of his particular relationship to it).
To be emphasized most strongly is the fact that the hermit experi-
ences nature specifically as "Gottes Stadt", which suggests that its
intricate processes reveal the purpose of a divine will and the eter-
nally harmonious design of life. This interpretation of nature by
Goethe's hermit is of the utmost importance as a theme which is
developed (and differentiated, of course) in connection with many
other figures in this and the following chapters (in spite of the dis-
tinguishing chapter-headings).
The hermit's relationship to society is developed on two levels in
Satyros. First, in the exposition of the opening monologue, the
hermit explains that he has abandoned life in the city because of
the hypocritical demands made upon him. To find the true essence
of life he has gone to nature. Second, the substance of the drama,
itself, involves a conflict between two interpretations of nature as
religion. That of the hermit is based upon deep personal experience
of a specifically individual kind which cannot readily be imparted
to the people collectively. That which is imparted by Satyros, on
the other hand, is based upon an irrationally emotional reaction of
the people as a whole; it readily alleviates the natural desire for an
understanding of life through nature without supplying any deeper
truth or personal conviction-mass hypnotism, rather than enlighten-
18


ment. Consequently, the people, deluded and confused by Satyros,
are prepared to martyr the hermit, whose conception of life is
inaccessible through any process other than that of individual
experience (“Erlebnis").
(3) Because of the fragmentary form in which it has come down
to us, Lenz's Die Kleinen presents certain limitations to the analysis
of themes and characters. Yet we are justified in believing that the
major ones stand before us in the six scenes which Lenz actually
executed, as well as in the sketches which he drew of intermediary
and (apparently) final scenes. There is enough to reveal plainly the
subject matter and the backbones of the two connected plots in
which it is treated.
The material of the first plot is an essentially typical one for
"Storm and Stress" writing; it is the theme of revolt against the
upper classes and an expression of contempt for the over-refinement,
decadence, and lack of genuine humanity in the life of such circles.
Contrasted with the characteristics of the aristocracy are the sincere
and earthy virtues of the peasant and serving classes.
The central figure is Hanns von Engelbrecht, who has become
sadly disillusioned in his own social stratum; therefore he sets out to
observe the lower classes. He wishes to find his happiness by feeling
that of others and by making them aware of their more fortunate lot
(as in Werther - Lenz was, of course, an avid disciple of Goethe and
strove to emulate him in his life and work).
The second plot is connected technically with the first through the
central character, Engelbrecht. Here, the sad conflict between the
hermit and his older brother (the "Bruderzwist" - another popular
"Sturm und Drang" theme) and the hermit's complete despair in the
later scenes portray the tragic fate which befalls two men in the
treacherous spider-web of court intrigue. This second plot has a
more truly dramatic nature than do the scenes of the first, which
depict the loves and activities of "Die Kleinen". The lives of "Die
Kleinen" do provide vivid and lively portrayals, but they are epi-
sodic more like background studies against which the theme
specifically involving the hermit, Bismark, and Engelbrecht stands
out in bold relief.
We have called Engelbrecht the central character of the fragment,
but this is so technically rather than intrinsically. The hermit and
Bismark (and all of the vividly drawn characters of the lower class
scenes) are vastly more interesting and important than Engelbrecht,
himself. He is used by the poet to provide the human meeting
ground of experience which sets off the naive and happier lives of
Annamarie and her "Schlossergesell" or of Lorchen, the chamber-
maid, and the hunter, Hummel, from the tragedy of the hermit and
his brother.
19


1
The second scene introduces the hermit, whom Engelbrecht en-
counters sitting before his cave with his face half turned toward its
entrance as if in painful disdain of the world. He appears to live in
the traditional manner of the hermits discussed in all of the previous
works. He dwells in a cave upon a mountain-side, and lives on roots
and herbs. Like Trevrizent, he is an experienced venerable man
who has secluded himself from the world for many years - (p. 318)
"Lieber Jüngling, kommt Ihr, nach fünfzig Jahren meine einge-
trockneten Augen wieder einmal anzufeuchten?" The hermit's be-
haviour throughout the scene discloses the deep despair which the
world has inflicted upon him. Engelbrecht hears no logical ex-
planation for this sorrow, but he needs none; general remarks, even
hints suffice for him. Feeling and emotion are the touchstones of
relationship and Engelbrecht and the hermit need only to sense the
force and direction of each other's emotional reactions to understand
one another completely.
When asked for a simple direction, the hermit makes clear the state
of utter rejection of the world in which he exists. He does not even
reply, but simply points out the path with his finger. His rejoinder
to Engelbrecht's query as to whether he is a Carthusian - "Nein -
lebt wohl, mein Herr.!" - shows his adamant desire to avoid any
involvement with his fellow-men or the world outside. In this
respect, he displays a streak of the pathological fear and distrust of
the world which we have seen in Simplicissimus (and which we shall
observe in Peter Schlemihl). He does not exhibit any natural sense
of hospitality such as that of Trevrizent or of Goethe's recluse.
-
Engelbrecht, nevertheless, immediately understands the aged
man (p. 317) "Was hat Euch die Welt so verhasst gemacht?" The
hermit's response ("die Welt") overwhelms Engelbrecht, who kisses
the old man's hand as if he were a saint. This token of deep under-
standing and sympathy causes the hermit remorse, and through
Engelbrecht he feels again a bond of kinship with mankind - (p. 318)
“Jüngling, Ihr schenkt mir das Leben wieder!" The tremendous
force of the hermit's revulsion from the world, the very scope of
his emotion, we might say, convinces the younger man that a figure
of greatness stands before him who, but for the fateful cause of his
despair, may have been destined to play a most important role in
life. The hermit, however, designates his solitary existence as
precisely the great role he has been fated to perform. This senti-
ment is echoed by Engelbrecht when he takes leave of the recluse -
(p. 319) “O ich möchte verstummen wie du! Heiliger grosser gött-
licher Mann! Dass deine Füsse die Erde berühren, die sich unter
ihnen verächtlich dahinrollt! Wer soll dich schätzen, wenn du dich
nicht schätzest? Du, wie Gott, dir selber genug, dir selber Beloh-
nung, dir selber alles!" In these lines the hermit is made to represent
20


the revolt of the almost divine individual against a defective world.
The hermit informs Engelbrecht that he has fled in order to leave
open the way for his closest friend's worldly success. To save that
friend from becoming guilty of treachery and machination against
him as Heidemann later hints, (p. 325) and to preserve the ideal
of a friendship which could not have endured in a society motivated
by intrigue and favoritism, the great man removed himself to the
wilds.
—
The nature of his withdrawal, therefore, proves to be that of a
self-sacrifice to save a friend (his brother, as is subsequently re-
vealed). In this respect, his act also shows a strong relationship to
that of Trevrizent. Trevrizent, however, rejected a knightly world
in which he strongly believed, while Lenz's hermit casts off a society
which, because of its decadence, endangers an ideal. Lenz's figure
also contrasts with the hermit in Satyros, where a susceptible society
is victimized by the satyr, but is considered by the hermit worthy
and capable of development because of its natural urge to discover
the essence of life. The theme of martyrdom and holiness is suggest-
ed in Trevrizent, and is strong in both Satyros and Die Kleinen.
Lenz's hermit desires that knowledge of his sacrifice be withheld
from all men; Engelbrecht is the first man with whom he has spoken
since his hermithood and he is to be the last. Having shut himself
completely off from the world, he feels the frost of death creeping
through his bones, and this sense of foreboding suggests the chilling
atmosphere of despair in which the hermit ends his life.
Having received an invitation from Count Bismark (the hermit's
brother), Engelbrecht stops at an inn to inquire the way to the
nobleman's country estate. Here he discovers from the innkeeper,
Heidemann, a good deal about the past lives of the two brothers.
From Heidemann's description of the Count, Engelbrecht gains the
information which the hermit had denied him - namely that Count
Bismark is the friend and brother for whom the hermit had aban-
doned life in society. From the common rumors which Heidemann
passes on to him, Engelbrecht receives the impression that the
Count's success at the prince's court was shortlived. The hermit's
sacrifice seems to have been in vain. We find this confirmed in the
subsequent interview between Engelbrecht and Bismark.
-
As prime minister, Bismark soon discovered that he was falling
out of favor with the prince, whereupon he immediately withdrew
to a lonely country estate. There he lives in deepest melancholy
in contrast to the previous high spirits for which he had been noted
(p. 325). Some rumors attribute this depression to the death of
Bismark's daughter. Others maintain that it is because of a younger
brother who had been the prince's favorite, but whom Bismark so
maligned that he fled to the wilds. Engelbrecht learns that the
21


younger Bismark had been a dashing and successful officer in the
prince's bodyguard. In a battle he had lost two fingers, and had
received a scar on the face. These details identify the hermit for
Engelbrecht.
-
This certainty as to the hermit's identity ripens the young man's
resolution to bring the two brothers together to effect a recon-
ciliation which might relieve the tortured conscience of Count
Bismark and win the hermit recognition for his heart-breaking
sacrifice.
Bismark, when he receives Engelbrecht, appears as a broken man
in the depths of a melancholy which is the wage and fruit of his
intrigue at court. Curious and fascinated by his visitor's project to
observe the virtuous happiness of the lower classes, the Count
eagerly scans Engelbrecht's writing portfolio. His glance falls at
once upon the entry concerning the hermit. When Engelbrecht
snatches the portfolio from him to keep his oath of secrecy to the
hermit, the Count's remark (p. 335) - "Wenn das ist - Ich weiss was
Meineid ist. Lasst mich!" indicates the source of his suffering.
His subsequent monologue in the garden discloses the pact which
he, a hopeless weakling, had made with his brother. The younger
brother was to absent himself from court and leave the field clear
for the Count, after which the latter would care for his needs. This
bargain took the form of an oath which the Count has not fulfilled.
Lenz's portrait of Bismark is that of a weak aristrocat who suc-
cumbs to the decadent brilliance of court life, and uses the sacrifice
of a noble brother to gain his end. Having fallen into disfavor, he
suffers in solitude because it is too late to make good the broken
oath or repay his brother's too generous love.
In the two final fragmentary monologues of the hermit (p. 337)
and in the scene following them, Lenz's recluse takes on a pro-
nouncedly pathological coloring. In the scene discussed earlier
(Scene II), his complete and adamant rejection of society was de-
lineated by his every gesture and word, but we have also noted that
the sympathy and understanding of Engelbrecht evoked in him a
natural longing for some bond with his fellow-men, while, at the
same time, he voiced a wish to have the soundness of his reason es-
tablished after his death (p. 319 – “Wenn ich tot bin, könnt Ihr
meinen Namen in einen Stein schneiden, und denen, die mich für
närrisch oder abergläubisch hielten, sagen, dass ich meinen gesun-
den Verstand hatte, wie sie"). We may imagine these desires to have
been always present below the surface. The harsh disappointment
occasioned by the experience with his brother, the Count, however,
had called up in him an extreme revulsion for a society so decadent
as to provide temptation for one brother to intrigue against the
other for the sake of obtaining rank and favor. The hermit, Hein-
22


rich Bismark, had detected in his brother's character a weakness
common to the aristocratic court circle as he knew it. To prevent
his brother, therefore, from becoming guilty of intrigue against him,
Heinrich became a hermit. His experience had embittered him to
the extent that not only the scene of his former glory, but all human
society had become distasteful to him.
In the first of the two final monologues (p. 337), the hermit ex-
presses a horrible doubt as to the justification of his flight. It is
clear that he is in a pathological state of mind. The greatness of
his purpose no longer suffices to comfort him. The desire to have
the soundness of his reason attested by Engelbrecht after his death
has grown to exaggerated proportions (p. 337) "Wem scheint
nicht mein Leben eine Karikatur? Wenn wird der gütige Genius
niemals wird er erwachen, der ein wohltätiges Licht darauf wirft."
The hermit now feels that his very salvation depends upon the
validity and justification of his withdrawal. His speech has the
tone of a despairing attempt at self-persuasion; he maintains that
he would repeat his actions even if they now be undone. His sole
consolation consists in having caused no one unhappiness, for he
has blocked no man's path to success. Yet this consolation does not
ring true in his innermost soul, as he suggests in the exclamation,
"Guter Gott! erhalte mir das Gefühl in der Todesstunde!"
In the opening words of the second monologue (“kurz vor seinem
Tode im letzten Akt"), the hermit apostrophizes the impotent
thinking which has led him astray like a will-o'-the-wisp in the
marshes. He is referring directly to the wishful thinking which lets
him console himself with the idea that his brother's happiness is
well worth the sacrificial withdrawal from the world. His soul is
torn apart by the horrible doubt which possesses him - "Der du
meine Seele geschaffen hast, rette mich meine Seele so kalt und
gross, so unleidenschaftlich für meinen verzweifelten Schmerz - so
eine Kotseele für mein Elend!" He feels incapable of coping with his
despair despair growing out of the reality which would not have
permitted him to forsake the world to gratify a decadent and weak-
ling brother. The pathological emotion of the hermit is evident in
the last attempt to persuade himself that his long life as a recluse
has not been in vain – “und doch freut es mich einen Bruder damit
glücklich gemacht zu haben, einen Bruder, der feuriger als ich, sein
Elend so kalten Bluts wie ich nicht ertragen haben würde. Und
wohl elend hätte er müssen sein, weil aus Furcht vor diesem Zustan-
de er mich hilflos gelassen."
-
-
Then the pangs of approaching death come upon him "meine
Brust hebt sich, ungewöhnliche Zuckungen, Leiden, die ich noch nie
erfahren, folgen blitzschnell aufeinander" - and in this state of
supersensitivity he feels the judgment of God (and in this respect
23


Lenz's hermit is also traditionally Christian). Lying prostrate, the
hermit believes that he has been rejected, because his action was
based upon a false generosity. He had no right to leave his brother
alone on the political and social stage. He, himself, might have been
of greater service to the world; it was his duty to oppose the designs
of the decadent weakling, not to flee from them. Thus, the des-
pairing thought which plagues his last moments becomes crushing
reality – “O Gedanke, der die ganze Hölle in sich führt, verfolgst du
mich so spät - am Ende der Laufbahn? - Verfehlt ein ganzes
langes Patriarchenleben- und mein Tod - unbekannt - unberühmt
- unwürdig!"
-
-
After the hermit's terrible struggle with his soul and the hopeless
impact of its outcome, the scene which follows it is anticlimactic,
but it does fulfill the poet's intention of reuniting the two brothers
through Engelbrecht. Of particular interest is the hermit's expres-
sion of joy when Engelbrecht and Count Bismark make their way
to him through driving snow and icy wind (p. 339) "und es ist
etwas süsses, deinem Ende in Gesellschaft von Menschen entgegen-
gehen. Ich habe in meinem Leben die Menschen gemieden, nur für
das letzte Viertelstündchen habe ich mir einen Zuschauer gewünscht
- mein Gebet ist erhört." The sense of well-being derived from human
society about him in his last moments is based upon the final
realization (as we have seen) that the motive for his hermithood was
not valid - which does not mean that he now feels differently about
the vanity and decadence of the aristocratic world and its "Ruhm-
sucht", but that his flight actually meant a neglect of duty.
When Heinrich, with his last breath, stretches out his arms to the
Count, we must interpret the gesture as one of forgiveness. He
feels that he bears the responsibility not only for his own, but also
for whatever misery the weaker man has endured; for he had
abandoned him with full knowledge of that weakness. The Count
stabs himself and falls beside the body of the hermit brother who
had rejected the world and sacrificed his life for his sake in vain.
In a sense, the figure of the hermit, Heinrich Bismark, expresses a
sort of repudiation of hermithood, for he deceives himself into re-
jecting the world through partial weakness of character. As we
have indicated, the decadence of the upper classes as opposed to the
| simple virtues of "die Kleinen" is the dominant theme of the frag-
ment. The conflict between the hermit and his brother illustrates
the devastating effect of the former way of life upon two individuals
caught in its web of intrigue. The weakness of the Count ruins the
life of a stronger, nobler brother who thus falls prey to the same
decadent order. We might say that Count Bismark embodies the
aristocratic decadence because of which the hermit rejected the
world to spend his remaining years in solitude - although in vain.
24


The words of Engelbrecht spoken over the brothers' bodies form a
kind of epilogue - "O schreckliches Schauspiel! Eitle Grösse! O
fürchterliches Ziel der mühsamen Laufbahn! Wohin, Hochmut, auf
welche Klippen führst du uns? Sie sterben und ich bleibe, ihre
Körper zu vereinigen. O ihr Himmlischen, verlasst meine Seele
nicht, wenn sie je sich auf ähnliche Abwege verirren wollte!"
The theme of martyrdom is suggested by Trevrizent's withdrawal
to atone for his brother's sin, but the theme is decidedly strong in
Goethe's Satyros. Heinrich Bismark, however, in Lenz's fragment
becomes a martyr to the effeteness and sterile lust for worldly
brilliance in aristocratic society. Lenz's hermit falls victim to the
very decadence and intrigue which he seeks to avoid, for, in remov-
ing himself from the path of the weaker brother's success, he
capitulates to that very weakness. He deceives himself into be-
lieving that he has acted out of generosity, whereas his flight ac-
tually represented a lack of strength in his own character. The valid
and true revolt, however, would have consisted in standing firm
against the decadence and corruption round about; thus he might
have performed a valuable service to the world. Lenz's hermit,
therefore, becomes the principal actor in a tragedy of revolt against
an aristocracy of intrigue and corruption.
In contrast to Trevrizent, whose act consists of atonement for a
sin against the ideal society in which he has the utmost faith, and in
contrast, also, with Goethe's hermit, who understands the motives
of society about him, and has a sympathetic attitude toward it,
Lenz's figure illustrates an unsuccessful revolt against a specific
class of society. His whole being is repelled by its "unnatural-
ness".
Goethe's hermit has the profound world of nature, "Gottes Stadt",
which he can substitute for that which he left. Lenz's hermit has
no substitute in nature, but only his great soul – and he almost
compromises its salvation. The role of nature, itself, as opposed to
the superficialities of society, is not stressed in Die Kleinen as it is in
Satyros or in Klinger's Sturm und Drang. The icy wind and snow
flurries in the scene last discussed are used to suggest an atmosphere
of doom and hopelessness descriptive of the hermit's state of mind.
Lenz does, however, introduce the concept of an individual with
natural, therefore noble instincts into his portrayal of the hermit.
The pathological element is injected into the hermit's struggle with
his soul and the attempt is made successfully in Die Kleinen to give
the hermit tragic stature. As a ruler with which the faults of a
class and period are measured (true also of Goethe's recluse and
Lessing's), the hermit in Die Kleinen illustrates specifically the
unsuccessful revolt of a strong individual against a class of society
so corrupt that even he cannot prevail against its influences - there
25


7 is a sense of hopelessness which borders on nihilism in the portrayal
of Heinrich Bismark.
(4) In contrast to Lenz's fragment, Klinger's drama, Sturm und
Drang, does not contain such a violent attack against any specific
class of society, but it does criticize superficiality of feeling princi-
pally through the character of Blasius (there is also much satirizing
of the Anacreontic view of life as embodied in the characters of La
Feu and Lady Katherine). Feeling above all else is exalted; indeed,
the play possesses (and often chastises) in exaggerated form all the
stylistic mannerisms of the movement to which it gave its name. In
it we can expect no logical development of motives, but must pene-
trate through the emotional expressions to arrive at any systematic
understanding.
Of the characters as such, Blasius ("der Blasius", a blasé person)
is drawn with most depth. Although Blasius does not appear as a
hermit technically in the drama, he does, nevertheless, decide to
reject the world (Act V, Scene 4) in order to become one. What is
important is the fact that he reveals an attitude of disillusionment,
even of disgust, toward the world, and we are given a picture of the
relationship to society which brings him to substitute for its super-
ficialities (like the hermit in Satyros) the deeper eternal world of
nature. We have, in other words, before us the development of
thought and feeling which ends in Blasius' hermithood, while, in the
previous works, we have looked through the recluse into his past, as
it were, to evaluate his present.
Blasius holds a position in the drama which is midway between the
stormy, impulsive activity of Wild and the unbridled, imaginative
flights of La Feu into his pastoral paradise. When the play opens in
an American inn during the revolution, the three comrades sound
the respective key-notes of their personalities. Wild had whisked
his friends willy-nilly from Russia to Spain and thence to the prom-
ised land of individual freedom and revolt against tyranny. He
revels in the excitement and turmoil; paradoxically, the uproar of
the revolutionary atmosphere is supposed to relax and free his inner-
most self (Deutsche National-Literatur, Stürmer und Dränger I,
I, 1, p. 65) "Das wilde Geräusch hat mir schon soviel Wohlsein ent-
gegen gebrüllt, dass mirs wirklich ein wenig anfängt besser zu wer-
den. Soviel hundert Meilen gereiset, um dich in vergessenden Lär-
men zu bringen - Tolles Herz! du sollst mirs danken! Ha! tobe und
spanne dich dann aus, labe dich im Wirrwarr!" Wild, of course,
seeks solace because he has been separated from his childhood be-
loved, Karoline Berkley, by the emnity of their respective fathers,
the Lords Buschy and Berkley.
-
La Feu's tempestuous activity (if it may be so designated) con-
sists, on the other hand, of creating the most fantastic illusions for
26


the edification and stimulation of his senses - (I, 1 - p. 65) "Es lebe
die Illusion! - Ei! Ei!, Zauber meiner Phantasie, wandle in den
Rosengarten von Phyllis Hand geführt -". Subsequent elaborations
of this theme emphasize to what extent Klinger lets La Feu carry
his imagination which corresponds in its paradoxical workings to
Wild's means of seeking consolation (I, 1 - p. 65) "Beim Amor!
ich will mich wie ein alt Weib verlieben, in einem alten, baufälligen
Haus wohnen, meinen zarten Leib in stinkenden Mistlaken baden,
bloss um meine Phantasie zu scheren. Ist keine alte Hexe da, mit
der ich scharmieren könnte?"
-
-
Between these two figures stands Blasius, who is tired of the
world's superficialities. He has no taste for their excesses. To them,
he is "lieber, bissiger, kranker Blasius."
Although he maintains that he loves nothing, Blasius does love the
world - but for its own sake and not for the excesses and trivialities
which make a travesty of life in it.
We become aware that his relationships with women have much
to do with his depressed state of mind and his attitude toward so-
ciety, for they have, with one exception, been unfortunate. The
recurring concern for Donna Isabella ("Kommt meine Donna noch?"
and "Ist Donna Isabella noch?") permits the conclusion that Blasius
had experienced through her the one deep love of his life - (I, 1 – p.
67) "In Krieg und Getümmel von meiner Passion weg, das Einzige
was mir übrig blieb." Blasius had known her in Spain and his
temporary resentment toward Wild is partially due to his having
been wrenched from her against his will. This experience, however,
is only one of the immediate causes of the melancholy which per-
vades his outlook upon life.
The level of his feeling is not always comprehensible to his friends
because of its depth. When Wild says, (I, 1 – p. 67) "Du liebst ja
nichts, Blasius," the reply is taken only at an apparent surface
value. Blasius answers that he loves nothing, that he has conscious-
ly brought himself to a point where he loves nothing - that is, to
love everything and to forget it all again in the very same moment.
In reality, his attitude is one of self-protection; he wishes to preserve
his sincere and sensitive heart from further pain and disappoint-
ment. This is the motive which underlies his frequent expressions of
negation and his general behaviour in the drama; it is essentially
the motive which prompts him finally to seek seclusion in nature.
Blasius would betray all women, he maintains, and in return they
would betray, and have betrayed him. To his own disgust he has
played the social game - acted as fop and as stormy young petrel,
as dullard and as hypersensitive personality, according to the de-
mands of the moment. His only conquest was that of Donna
Isabella, because he pretended to be nothing other than himself.
27


Human relationship, as he observes it, is based upon triviality,
sham, and illusion, and society, for him, is inhabited by shallow
personalities only.
Despite the fact that Wild's desire for strenuous activity oppresses
him (II, 1 – end), Blasius also longs for the zest in life which his
friend displays. The unhappy man suffers from a neurotic strain
which has been nurtured in him by his experiences in the world –
(II, 1 end) "Ich bin zerrissen in mir und kann die Fäden nicht
wieder auffinden das Leben anzuknüpfen." Implicit in this self-
examination is the desire to construct a shell around his own sensi-
tivity and, on the other hand, the natural drive to find an emotional
outlet for himself. He recalls the painful occasion (witnessed by
Wild) when he was forced to see his charger put to use as a dray-
horse. The depressing sight caused him to weep, and Isabella, under-
standing his emotion, wiped his tears away. This incident has a
symbolic value for Blasius; it illustrates, very simply, the deteriora-
tion of the joy which he once did have in life. He is now, as we have
seen, completely disillusioned - (II, 1 – end) "Herrlichkeit der Welt!
Ich kann keine deiner Blumen mehr brechen. Ja, wer diesen Sinn ver-
loren hat, wer dich verloren hat, ewige Liebe, die du in uns alles
zusammen hältst!" In these lines, Blasius infers that he has lost
the sense of communion with the world (a sense similar to that
which does inspire Goethe's hermit in Satyros), but the tone of the
lines also conveys an unexpressed wish, a desire to find some realm
of life in which his suppressed longing may find its release.
We have already suggested that Blasius' past relationships with
women make up a principal cause for his melancholy attitude and
distaste for society. With the single exception of Donna Isabella,
the women in his life have embodied the triviality and general
emptiness of all social intercourse. It is safe to assume that the
resulting disillusionment has colored his entire approach to life; he
had presumably sought release for his inner self through his re-
lationships with the opposite sex. Having been disappointed and
deeply hurt, he attempts to shield himself from the world by closing
off his emotion. Yet, as we have also seen, the drive to feel life in
all its fullness still pulses strongly in him - albeit hidden beneath a
negativistic exterior.
—
Women have been largely responsible for Blasius' disillusionment.
Through them, society has become a threat to his sincere and deep
emotion; he feels he must protect himself from the superficiality
which directs the course of human relationships. Yet, the conscious
attempt to close himself off emotionally from the world discloses the
underlying drive in Blasius to find release for his feelings - to reesta-
blish the bonds severed between himself and life.
Blasius' longing reaches its final solution through his experience
28


with Luise. She embodies conclusively for him all of the superficial
contradictions which have produced his negative attitude toward
life. This final experience with the superficially Rococo feminine
personality provides the impulse which causes Blasius to reject all
human society. He finds release from the pain of a sham existence
and rediscovers the "Herrlichkeit der Welt" in the revelation of
cosmic nature - in it he achieves at last a feeling of complete har-
mony. This solution is prepared for Blasius by the contrast which
is implicit in the natural beauty of Luise and her emotional artifici-
ality and emptiness. She is almost programmatic for his dualistic
approach to life. In addition, her superficiality oppresses his natural
longing, and contrasts with the pulsation of nature embodied in a
magnificent evening which does speak to Blasius' demand for deep
emotional harmony.
The disappointment resulting from this encounter with Luise calls
up in Blasius all of his resentment toward the lack of true feeling
which stamps the creatures of social tradition.
While walking with Luise, La Feu, and Kathrin, Blasius becomes
so depressed that he refuses to continue the stroll. In Luise's com-
pany, the evening seems wet and cold. Following the walk, La Feu
and Blasius sit alone in the garden (IV, 6), and, in the magic still-
ness of the night air, the earlier dampness and cold is no longer ap-
parent. Instead, particularly to Blasius, the encompassing aspect
of night becomes charged with emotional life of its own. Nature
reveals itself cloaked in the mantle of night as a living cosmic or-
ganism - the source and receptacle of all deep feeling. A response
from the harmony of which he now feels himself to be part speaks
mightily to the pent-up longing in Blasius' soul. After previously
having plunged to the utmost depth of depression, he finds an ecsta-
tic release. His emotion, turned inward by the unnatural Luise,
bursts its corporal limits, and becomes an overtone in the pervading
chord of nature, itself.
This brief scene (IV, 6) represents the fulfillment of Blasius' des-
tiny in the drama, and characterizes his transition to hermithood.
While La Feu and Wild find self-realization in the loves of Kathrin
and Karoline, respectively, Blasius turns from the oppressive super-
ficiality of society to the living spirit of nature. This development is
the climax of his life. The ecstasy expressed by Blasius to cosmic
nature as revealed in night is very like that of Werther in the famous
second letter "Am 10. Mai" - only there, of course, nature is clothed
in the splendor of a spring morning. This conception of nature and
night points to the related one of Novalis and his early romantic
contemporaries. Blasius becomes fully conscious that, in the har-
mony of nature, he has found peace at last. His life has been a pil-
grimage over ways beset with both joys and thorns to this end. He
29


recalls once again his past life and the suffering he has endured from
an insensitive world because it was his lot to be endowed with a
feeling heart. Now, however, his deep emotion finds a positive res-
ponse "liebliche Lüfte gebt mir Liebe noch!"
-
In his last meeting with Luise (V, 4), Blasius makes a final attempt
to discover in her some basis for compatibility (cf. IV, 6) but the
revelation of nature which he has just experienced renders him
quite sarcastic in his approach. Luise, shallow as she is, naturally
does not comprehend the tone in Blasius' sarcastic proposal of
marriage. They are admirably suited to one another, he finds, for
they are both bored to death in each other's company. To be able
to endure such a relationship is the primary requisite of marriage.
Luise insists upon retorting to him and Blasius finds, as before, that
she thus destroys whatever aura of attraction she may have possess-
ed.
When La Feu and Kathrin agree to pass on into their imaginary
"Schäferleben" together, Blasius announces his decision to become
a hermit (V, 4). He has found a pleasant bushy cave where he can
seclude himself from the society which has caused him so much pain.
There he will preserve the feeling which still remains to him, and
begin life anew in the harmony of nature - the life they had left
behind in the Alps. (cf. Kleist's Schweizer Idyll).
-
We have seen that Blasius stands between La Feu with his Anac-
reontic flights of imagination and the tempestuous Wild. In him,
Klinger clearly wishes to portray the conflict of deep (genuine
"Sturm und Drang") feeling with the capricious superficiality of
society, which is embodied, not only in society as a whole, but
specifically in women such as Luise. The most typical "Sturm und
Drang" characteristic, here, is the treatment of the unspecific
quality, "Gefühl", for its own sake. Blasius, as a hermit, seeks
seclusion in nature from the studied shallowness of society; his
refuge in nature saves him from complete emotional paralysis
where, in Simplicissimus, the hermit's seclusion is a means of saving
his soul from the damning influences of the world about him,
Blasius' flight is motivated by the desire to preserve the most pre-
cious of individual possessions, the capacity to feel. Blasius, an
echo of Werther, embodies the high valuation of "Fühlbarkeit" -
Werther's term.
The theme of martyrdom, implicit in the treatments of Lenz's
hermit and of Goethe's in Satyros, cannot be associated with Blasius
(as it cannot with Simplicissimus), because his flight represents for
him a personal salvation, a fulfillment of his deepest personal
longing.
We have seen that the interpretation of nature, itself, as opposed
to that of society, plays an unimportant role in Lenz's Die Kleinen
30


-
and in Lessing's Der Eremit. In Klinger's Sturm und Drang, as in
Goethe's Satyros, the hermit's relationship to nature counterbalanc-
es his reaction to society. In Satyros, Goethe's hermit is the protag-
onist of a procreative nature as the revelation of divine purpose,
which can be grasped only through individual experiencing – nature
and religion are, in a sense, one. In Sturm und Drang, a specifically
religious aspect is lacking, but both Blasius and Goethe's hermit
substitute the world of nature for that of a deficient society - in this
respect, the attitudes of both figures toward life is positive; their
rejection of society leads to the discovery of an eternal phase of life.
For both Klinger's and Goethe's solitaries, nature is a living, breath-
ing organic cosmos - although it is a more narrowly emotional force
in nature which speaks to Blasius.
With the exception of Blasius, all of the hermit figures which we
have analyzed are conceived in a traditionally Christian manner
they are holy men. The religious motif is strongly implicit in each
of them (even though in Lessing's poem false religiosity is put to the
lash). In the cases of all figures (but Lessing's) it is the reaction to
society which specifically brings about the hermit's withdrawal.
Only Satyros and Sturm und Drang point to the hermit's discovery
of nature as a cosmos which contrasts with the shortcomings of
social life.
In contrast to the others, Blasius will be a quite secular recluse;
in this regard, he is untraditional, and represents a departure.
Nature becomes for him the sinecure of the man who is misunder-
stood by society.
-
The view of nature in Sturm und Drang differs from that in Satyros
in so far as Blasius finds in it not so much the revelation of an
absolute divine purpose but, rather, the spring of eternal feeling.
This is a conception which we find developed to great depth in the
hermits of the romantic poets in Lenau's Marionetten. To be
reemphasized is the fact that it is night, specifically, in nature, which
draws Blasius into its sphere - another theme which, with its myriad
interpretations, becomes one of the principal ones in Romanticism.
(5) The revolt against decadence in society and particularly
against the upper classes is a recurrent theme in "Storm and Stress
literature. This theme is developed through the hermit figure in
Lenz's Die Kleinen, and it is suggested in the conflict of Blasius,
who rescues himself from the superficiality of the social world and
flees into the healing realm of nature. In Satyros, the hermit is the
exponent of nature as "Gottes Stadt"; he who trammels it violates
divine order.
Gottfried Bürger couples these two themes in his stormy ballad,
Der wilde Jäger. In this poem, a decadent, unprincipled aristocrat
lays waste nature, the symbol of divine order, and is consequently
31


punished for his sin by divine justice. Through his violation of
nature, the "Wild- und Rheingraf" also becomes guilty of oppressing
the peasant class, which is seen by the poet as closely related to
nature and dependent upon it for a productive livelihood. The
hermit, "der fromme Kläusner" is ultimately associated with the
divine spirit of nature, and intercedes in its behalf before God.
Of the thirty-six strophes in the poem, the first twenty concern the
flagrant vandalism of the Count, the climactic strophes (the twenty-
first through the twenty-fourth) introduce the hermit with his
warning and the Count's rejection of it.
In order to appreciate fully the significance of the hermit's role
and the conception of nature which he defends, it is of importance
to analyze briefly Bürger's treatment of the Count and his blasphe-
mous devastation of the peaceful countryside. In accordance with
Bürger's low Saxon provenience and in keeping with balladesque
tradition, the characters receive a legendary, "sagenhafte" treat-
ment. Bürger's work is, indeed, the finest poetic treatment of a
famous low Saxon legend, several versions of which are to be read
in the Deutsche Sagen of the Brothers Grimm - Ludwig Bechstein's
version (in his Märchen und Sagen) is a prose narration of Bürger's
ballad. The introduction of Jakob Grimm's Deutsche Mythologie
makes reference to Hans von Hackelberg, the "wild Huntsman", a
Hannoverian country squire. Grimm associates him through the
Gothic origin of his name with Germanic paganism and Wodan.
The King of the gods was envisioned as a rider in the northwestern
Germanic area. He was the first leader of a "wütendes Heer" which
raged across the countryside and through the skies. Because he,
too, was the last legendary representative of old folk belief, Widu-
kind, the Saxon prince, was identified with Wodan. Following his
defeat at the hands of Charlemagne, he led his warriors on a wild ride
across the Westphalian heath. This is of significance for our inter-
pretation of the "Kläusner", since the Rheingraf thus must be
understood also as an embodiment of paganism in opposition to the
Christian hermit. Of striking interest is the fact that God's spokes-
man, the recluse, here is associated with nature, as we have said,
while the pagan element, generally at one with nature, here violates
God's creation.
The tone of blasphemy implicit in the Count's devastation of nature
is present in the second strophe. It is Sunday and the dome of the
cathedral gleams in the early morning sun -
(1. 9 ff.)
"Zum Hochamt rufte dumpf und klar
Der Glocken ernster Feierklang.
Fern tönten lieblich die Gesänge
Der andachtsvollen Christenmenge."
32


The first strophe, however, has already shown us that the Count
does not belong to the reverent community of the common folk. He
pays no heed to the peaceful tolling of the bell; indeed, it is probably
inaudible to him, since he is wildly exhorting his company to horse,
while his baying pack is turned loose upon the placid countryside.
The pending judgment of the Count and the precarious predicament
of his soul are suggested not only by the direction of the hunt
(1. 13) "Rischrasch quer übern Kreuzweg gings" (the crossroad was
a traditional burial spot for suicides and highwaymen) – but also by
his position between the two mysterious riders who suddenly appear
on either side of him (a variation of the Dürer engraving, "Ritter,
Tod, und Teufel", perhaps of Marlowe's two angels in Doctor Faus-
tus) (1. 17 ff.) "Des Rechten Ross war silbersblinken, Ein Feuer-
farbner trug den Linken."
-
In spite of the angelic rider's warning that the hunting horn sounds
ill in tune to choir and churchbell, the Count scarcely needs the
urging of the sinister horseman
(1. 39 ff.) "Was Glockenklang? Was Chorgeplärr?
Die Jagdlust mag Euch bass erfreun!
Lasst mich, was fürstlich ist, Euch lehren
Und Euch von jenem nicht betören!"
In this exhortation of the evil genius, the poet also identifies the
wanton destruction of the hunt with the aristocracy ("was fürstlich
ist"), and this class thereby receives a character symbolic of evil and
rapacity. In the very same manner all of the figures in the poem
have typical and symbolic attributes rather than individual ones.
-
The goal of the wild Count's hunt is, in itself, of sacred quality as
a creature of nature and the paths of destruction which the Count
follows in pursuing it lead him to damnation. Two specific acts of
vicious oppression lead up to, and bring about his judgment. When
the stag seeks refuge in the grainfield of a poor plowman, the Count
and his party plunge after it. Heedless of the peasant's pleading,
the Count, his company and his pack sweep over the field, lashing
the farmer with whips and trampling under hoof the stalks of grain
the sole means of livelihood for the peasant. The second event
reaches the very zenith of viciousness. The stag mingles with a herd
of cattle, of which the owners are poor widows and other destitute
folk. When the herdsman, under whose care the animals graze, begs
the Count to take pity, the bestial nobleman sicks his blood-crazed
hounds at the innocent creatures. The herdsman and his charges are
gashed and torn while the stag manages to escape -
(1. 125-126) "Tief birgt sich's in des Waldes Mitte,
In eines Klausners Gotteshütte."
33


The verses tell us that the forest receives the persecuted animal into
its darkness and we may understand, at the same time, that nature
is taking unto itself its own - the center of the forest is the heart of
nature, nearest the protecting arm of God - into the very hut of
the hermit.
The precise spot in which the stag seeks refuge is (certainly through
divine purpose) the "Gotteshütte" of the hermit, who has here a
symbolic value even stronger and more inclusive than that of the
other figures in the ballad. We have, to be sure, discussed the de-
tails of the hunt in some detail; we have done so, however, only in
order to grasp accurately the full significance of the hermit's cli-
mactic role.
The center of the mysterious "deutscher Wald", to which the stag
flees, is the very heart of nature. Bürger's conception begins this
tradition which flowers in Romanticism. Here is the point of most
intimate contact between God and his ordered creation and it is
here that the hermit has his "Gotteshütte". This location indicates
very plainly the poet's conception of him; dwelling farthest from
man and society in the most intimate relationship to the creator, the
hermit is the interpreter of the almighty will and protector of na-
ture's inviolability. In this capacity, the hermit confronts the "Wild-
und Rheingraf", whose rapacious pursuit leads to the very threshold
of the hut, where the stag has taken refuge.
(1. 134)
"Entweihe Gottes Freistatt nicht!"
Thus, the hermitage becomes an asylum for all God's creatures who
are persecuted; it is a form of church, which the Count violates to
his undoing, and the hermit speaks for God in upholding the invio-
lability of this asylum. He speaks, too, for all creatures which suffer
from the cruelty of the nobility.
The hermit denounces the sin which the Count commits -
(1. 135-138) "Zum Himmel ächzt die Kreatur
Und heischt von Gott dein Strafgericht.
Zum letzten Male lass dich warnen,
Sonst wird Verderben dich umgarnen!"
The Count, in turn, ignores the warning of the hermit, as well as that
of his angelic genius, and follows the urging of the evil one. At once
he is enveloped by deathly stillness - that of eternity. The hermit
fulfills not only the role of nature's intercessor, but also that of its
prophet. He denounces the painful wrong which the Count, as a
vicious representative of his tyrannical class, inflicts upon God's
creatures and His creation.
God hears the cry of his "Sturm und Drang" hermit-prophet.
Through the eternal silence into which he has been plunged, the
34


Count hears the terrible judgment which the hermit has called down
upon his head -
(1. 175-180)
"Fleuch, Unhold, fleuch, und werde jetzt,
Von nun an bis in Ewigkeit,
Von Höll und Teufel selbst gehetzt!
Zum Schreck der Fürsten jeder Zeit,
Die, um verruchter Lust zu fronen,
Nicht Schöpfer noch Geschöpf verschonen!"
Thus Bürger unites through the climactic figure of the "Klausner"
two of the principal themes of "Sturm und Drang" literature - the
inviolate quality of nature and the tyranny of the aristocracy. The o
aristocracy, embodied in the Count, is attacked for its vicious op-
pression of the lower classes. These classes, represented, in turn, by
the herdsman and plowman, are conceived by the poet as close to
nature. They are integral with God's order in nature, while the
count violates that order for his own sport and to satisfy his rapac-
ity. In his pursuit of the white deer (and the horrible consequences
of the hunt for the peasants), the Count is guilty of a grievous sin
against the spirit of nature.
Nature is interpreted again in Der wilde Jäger as a living organic
cosmos, the pattern of divine order. As in Goethe's play, the hermit
is the embodiment of its spirit. We have seen, however, that he
assumes quite different proportions here. The figure of the hermit
is made typical rather than individual; he has a symbolic value.
His seclusion in the heart of the forest makes him the interpreter of
God's purpose and the defender of His creatures. (When the deer
seeks refuge in the hermit's hut, one is inclined to think of St.
Francis, as well as of St. Jerome and his docile beasts in Dürer's en-
graving.) Bürger's hermit accordingly defends divine order by op-
posing the Count's profligate destruction; his position as interme-
diary between God and nature also lends him a kind of prophetic
power to call down the vengeance of God upon the profaning noble-
man. He champions the cause of the peasant class, indirectly,
through his confrontation of the Count.
The Count (representing the ruthless aristocracy and pagan wan-
tonness has ridden roughshod over the commoners (represented by
plowman and herdsman), but when he seeks to defile God's inviolate
order (represented by the hermit) he meets his doom. The hermit is
of a different order from the plowman and herdsman; he stands for
divine institutions, not human (How much higher he stands than
e.g. the dubious figure in young Lessing's poem!)
The embodiment of prophetic power in the hermit figure is com-
mon also to the solitaries in Oberon, Heinrich von Ofterdingen, and
Hyperion (all in Chapter IV), where, of course, the developments
35


I
and conceptions of the prophetic power varies widely with the
interpretation of the hermit figure. In each of these cases, howʊver,
it is essentially inherent in the hermit's relationship to nature. The
strong identification of the hermit with the spirit of nature is pres-
ent in the works just mentioned, as well as in the "Waldvater" of
Kerner's Die Heimatlosen (Chapter IV). In Bürger's ballad, of
course, he acts in this capacity in defense of nature against the
"Wild- und Rheingraf", the archtype of criminally wastrel nobility.
(6) In Lessing's Nathan der Weise, the hermit is not involved in a
conflict with specific classes of society, as are the various "Sturm
und Drang" hermits; nor does a conception of nature, itself, with
which the hermit is associated, figure in it as a way of life opposing
the "Unnatur" of social shallowness (as in Klinger's play) or that of
a bestial nobility (as in Bürger's ballad). Yet a very particular
conception of nature (in the abstract) does actually form the ideal
content of Lessing's "Ideendrama"; it is the concept of a “natural”
(or "reasonable") humanity - a profoundly "natural" way of life
which does not constrict human relationships by the limits of outer
form or restrictions of dogmatic prejudices, but which does look
beyond these artificialities for the essentially "natural" humanity
binding men together in tolerant and understanding brotherhood.
-
In contrast to Nathan, the central figure, both Al-Hafi and the
lay-brother turn from the world to preserve their ideals. In this
respect, they serve as foils to Nathan who perseveres in an active
life to the end that he may demonstrate to others a living experience
of the pure humanity in which he believes. Al-Hafi's reaction to
society is an absolute rejection of it, while the "Klosterbruder", a
former hermit who had been driven from his abode by marauders,
patiently performs the distasteful services required of him by the
Patriarch only until such time as a new hermitage may be assigned
to him.
Al-Hafi, the Dervish¹ is one of Lessing's most original and in-
teresting characters, although he is only a minor one. Lessing's
plan for a dramatic sequel to Nathan, Der Derwisch (Theatralischer
Nachlass, Lessing's Werke, Bd. 10, p. 320) suggests that the poet may
have regretted Al-Hafi's early departure for the wilderness at the
end of the second act. The subject of this "Nachspiel" would have
been Al-Hafi's return from hermithood into the world (see also the
letter - An Karl Lessing, den 15. Januar 1779 - Lessing's sämtliche
Schriften, Briefe, Teil II). Not only did this minor character strongly
interest his own creator, but he also attracted the attention of
Klinger, who composed a fantastic comedy, Der Derwisch, which
appeared in 1780 (F. M. Klinger, Dramatische Jugendwerke, Bd. III).
| 1,,Bettelmönch im Islam, ursprünglich individueller Asket"
Lexikon.
Schweizer
36


The hero of Klinger's comedy, however, has little in common with
Lessing's Moslem beyond his designation as Dervish in the title and
a similar desire to flee to the Ganges, but with a lovely redbearded
Fatime (V, 1 – Beginning) "Süsse Seele, kümmere dich nicht, folg
mir an Ganges, das Ende deiner und meiner Noth! Dort wird die
Freude deines Lebens wiederkehren! Dort singt die Nachtigall in
grünen Büschen, die Collibris hüpfen in deinen Schoos." (Klinger's
hero does not function as a hermit at any stage of the dramatic
action, and could not justifiably be included in this study.)
Al-Hafi, Lessing's Dervish, is motivated by an ideal of humanity as
lofty as that which he recognizes in his friend, Nathan, but, unlike
Nathan, he fears a situation which might involve a compromise of
it. Rather than jeopardize his way of life and, therefore, himself in
his own eyes, he withdraws from the world of everyday affairs.
When Lessing first introduces him (I, 3 - Lessing's Werke, Bd. 2 −),
Al-Hafi has been tempted by his better self into a position which
makes such a compromise inevitable for him. He appears in the
splendid costume of Defterdar, the treasurer of Saladin, and
astonishes his old friend, who cannot reconcile such magnificence
with the character of the Dervish for Al-Hafi has given up his
individuality to become an official -
(1.380)
-
"Ich dachte mir nur immer,
-
Der Derwisch so der rechte Derwisch - woll
Aus sich nichts machen lassen."
The Dervish is supposed to live sufficient unto himself, apart from
the world for the good of his soul; he depends for his subsistence
upon the alms-giving public - this conception of the Moslem ascetic
is, of course, strikingly similar to that of the traditional Christian
hermit (as in the Introduction).
Al-Hafi accepted the position because he succumbed to a tempta-
tion to gratify his noble instincts. The temptation was the more
insidious in that it struck him through his better self. This is what
he confesses, essentially, in the lines which answer those of Nathan –
(1. 363 ff.) "Dass ich kein rechter (Derwisch) bin,
mag auch wohl wahr sein.
Zwar wenn man muss -".
-
Nathan forces the issue to disclose the nature of his friend's prob-
lem and to ascertain whether Al-Hafi's garb corresponds to any
change in the inner man
-
(1. 384 ff.) "Muss! Derwisch! - Derwisch muss?
Kein Mensch muss müssen, und ein Derwisch müsste?
Was müsst er denn?"
37


Nathan's question as to what a Dervish, or any man, "must" do
evokes an answer typical of the steadfast nature of Al-Hafi. At the
same time, the answer reveals that it is his deep humanity which has
placed him in his new and inappropriate office
(1.386)
"Warum man ihn recht bittet,
Und er für gut erkennt: das muss ein Derwisch."
Al-Hafi's dissatisfaction with his situation has its immediate roots
in the character of the noble and over-generous Sultan. Saladin is
determined to administer alms to all those in need (1. 408-410),
with the result that his private coffers are depleted by sunset of
each day in spite of the revenues which fill them in the morning.
Al-Hafi's attitude is that of an idealistic absolutist; he is unwilling
to distribute alms from a limited amount of funds, for he conceives
it to be unjust and inhuman to deny those whose hands remain
empty when the treasury is depleted. It is this attitude, essentially,
which motivates his return to hermithood.
The Dervish had let himself be seduced into his position as Defter-
dar, not by any desire to change his lot (1. 453-457), but by an invi-
tation which flattered his better self. Saladin had become dis-
pleased with the coldness of the former treasurer a man who had
questioned each recipient of alms to determine the degree of his
desserts. Therefore he chose the idealistic Dervish as his man, for
only a beggar could know how to give graciously to another one –
(1. 473 ff.)
-
“Al-Hafi gleicht verstopften Röhren nicht,
Die ihre klar und still empfangenen Wasser
So unrein und so sprudelnd wiedergeben.
Al-Hafi denkt; Al-Hafi fühlt wie ich!"
Al-Hafi had assumed the proffered office without having foreseen
the threat to his idealistic well-being. In his conversation with
Nathan, he is enraged and disgusted, first of all because he had per-
mitted himself to be blinded by flattery -
(1.458 ff.) "Weit etwas abgeschmackters!
Ich fühlte mich zum erstenmal geschmeichelt;
Durch Saladins gutherz'gen Wahn geschmeichelt."
He seems to himself to be a fool's fool ("wie 'nes Gecken Geck!") in
that he is attempting to execute Saladin's order to satisfy ever in-
creasing needs with an ever decreasing treasury.
There are two serious corollaries to this somewhat humorous
predicament and both of them are threats to Al-Hafi's way of life –
first-
38


(1. 484 ff.) "Es wär nicht Geckerei, des Höchsten Milde,
Die sonder Auswahl über Bös und Gute
Und Flur und Wüstenei, in Sonnenschein
Und Regen sich verbreitet, - nachzuaffen,
Und nicht des Höchsten immer volle Hand
Zu haben?"
The act of giving is a godly one; to dispense alms to the needy is to
follow the example of the divine creator, who gives of himself unceas-
ingly and without discrimination to all. To ape God's generosity
without being able to satisfy all those in need is a blasphemy to Al-
Hafi. The second ramification involves the self-deception in his
assumption of the office of Defterdar –
(1. 491 ff.) "Was es wäre
Nicht Geckerei, an solchen Geckereien
Die gute Seite dennoch auszuspüren,
Um Anteil, dieser guten Seite wegen,
An dieser Geckerei zu nehmen? He?"
Here Al-Hafi reveals not only his power of self-analysis, but also his
awareness of the psychological danger in which he has placed him-
self. He recognizes the generosity which motivates Saladin, but to
share in it for the illusory satisfaction of his own ego constitutes a
breach of his ideal. The cultivation of the purest humanity is not
compatible with the materialistic problems of society to give to
all in need would be godly, to give only to some, unjust and blasphe-
mous. Nathan voices his understanding of Al-Hafi's dilemma with
dry humour when he suggests that his eccentric friend depart for
his wilderness on the Ganges (1. 496), since, in the company of men,
he may forget his own humanity.
Having learned that Nathan has been summoned to the Sultan
(1. 1425-26), Al-Hafi considers himself responsible for the inevitable
ruin of his friend both spiritually and materially (for it was through
Al-Hafi that Sittah's attention was attracted to the wise and noble
Jew 1. 1034). Convinced that Nathan is destined to succeed him
as Defterdar, and completely disillusioned by his own experience, Al-
Hafi cannot bear to watch the decline and ruin of his friend (1.
1443 ff.).
-
Nathan, as we have indicated, contrasts sharply with Saladin in
the mind of Al-Hafi - Nathan, who never lends that he may always
have something to give, embodies ideal humanity, while Saladin's
well-meant generosity is actually based on half-truth.
Even though his eccentric absolutism makes Al-Hafi the only
humorous figure in the play, the kernel of his character consists in
his unwillingness to compromise with his idealism -
39


(1. 1485 ff.) "Ich, der ich nie für mich gebettelt habe,
Soll nun für andre borgen, Borgen ist
Viel besser nicht als betteln: so wie leihen,
Auf Wucher leihen, nicht viel besser ist
Als stehlen.“
The essence of Al-Hafi's philosophy of life is that a truth, an ideal,
cannot exist if it is compromised – a half-truth is no truth. As our
analysis of his motives in becoming Defterdar and of his reaction to
the office have disclosed, life in society would require dealing in half-
truth. Distrusting the temptation to self-deception, which exists in
society for the idealist, and, in addition, feeling responsible for the
pending ruin of his friend, Nathan, Al-Hafi resolves to depart for
the Ganges. The ideal man lives for his ideal and, for the Dervish,
that is possible only in contemplative isolation -
(1. 1489)
"Unter meinen Ghebern, an
Dem Ganges, brauch ich beides nicht
(Borgen, Betteln) und brauche
Das Werkzeug beider nicht zu sein.”
In a final attempt to save his friend from ruin, Al-Hafi urges Nathan
to become a hermit with him
(1. 1492)
"Am Ganges nur gibts Menschen. Hier seid Ihr
Der einzige, der noch so würdig wäre,
Dass er am Ganges lebte."
In their common devotion to human ideals, Nathan and Al-Hafi are
much alike; that is the basis of their friendship and of Nathan's
admiration for the Dervish -
(1. 1515 ff.) "Der wahre Bettler ist
Doch einzig und allein der wahre König.""
They differ, essentially, in that the course of Nathan's relationship
with the other characters of the play reveals in him an active and
1 optimistic philosophy of life; this is also evident in his hesitation in
following Al-Hafi to the Ganges. As the Dervish shrewdly observes,
Nathan only hesitates because he is seeking reasons for not going.
Al Hafi's departure, on the other hand, is based partially upon a
negative reaction to the pressure of social (financial) expediency -
as we have pointed out, he fears the temptation to which an idealist
is susceptibe in society, that of self-deception, through the best of
motives, which would compromise the ideal, itself.
There is criticism of the ideal of hermithood impliciti n Lessing's
portrayal of Al-Hafi. He is admirable in his honesty, his hatred of
delusion and pretense, and in his humanitarian impulses. His
40


solution, however, has a negative, unfruitful aspect. He has not the
strength, as Nathan implies (1. 496-499), to be human among men;
he can love his fellow-men only when he is away from them. His
only salvation is flight from the world. Yet, there is, as we have
said, a positive aspect of Al-Hafi's return to hermithood. The lines
(1489 ff.) quoted on the preceding page connote an intense sense of
pride and integrity, which has its roots in a profoundly ethical ap-
proach to life. Al-Hafi revolts against being the instrument of
borrowing and lending – such activity is unworthy of the highest
humanity, and amounts to complete degradation of man and ideal.
His withdrawal from society is, in this regard, the fullest expression
possible of his refusal to compromise (we need not comment upon
the extent to which this attitude is representative of Lessing's).
The second hermit figure in Lessing's drama, the "Klosterbruder",
stands in strong contrast to his Moslem counterpart, Al-Hafi. Al-
though he does not appear as a hermit in the course of the play,
technically, we know that he has been one (1. 2935) and that he is
only biding his time, until he may return to contemplative isolation
(1. 2950). Since Al-Hafi's full realization of his problem was the
product of rationalization and its origin was perhaps due to a lapse
in his clear-sightedness, the impetuous Dervish quickly remedied
the threat to his idealistic well-being by returning immediately to
hermithood. The "Klosterbruder", however, is portrayed as a
simpler man than the intellectual Moslem and, as a true and
humble Christian (as opposed to the Patriarch), his humility and
perseverance in carrying out tasks distasteful to him fit him well.
In the scene which first introduces the lay-brother (I, 5), we are
given an accurate and complete picture of the disgraceful and de-
grading errands which the poor man is forced to undertake for the
Patriarch.
It is interesting to note how Lessing lets both of these hermit
figures make their initial appearances engaged in acitivities foreign
and degrading to them as individuals. When we first see the lay-
brother (I, 4), he has been ordered by the Patriarch to sound out the
Templar for a plot against the life of his (and the Templar's) pro-
tector, Saladin (1. 660-678) - the obscure but true Christian, living
for his peace in God and motivated by feelings of deepest humanity
is made the tool of a personified travesty of both concepts. It is,
of course, apparent in his repetition of, "meint der Patriarch" (1.
683, 684, 689, 695), that the lay-brother wishes to disown any per-
sonal connection with the project of his superior. He expresses his
personal reaction only once during the discussion; it is when he
learns that the Templar owes Saladin his life that he interjects a
heart-felt "Pfui!" (1. 689) into his exposition of the Patriarch's
plans.
41


Lessing's general techniques in presenting both Al-Hafi and the
lay-brother are similar. Both have been hermits in the past, and
during the play we see both occupied in activities ill-befitting their
modes of life. The Dervish, however, was, as we have seen, faced
with an idealistic-ethical problem of humanity, which he solved for
himself by clear and rational self-analysis. The problem of the lay-
brother also involves the problem of higher humanity but, in him,
it is treated from the more specifically religious approach; there
is, in him, something more of feeling, rather than of rationalism.
The lay-brother is an embodiment of simplicity, humility and
dutifulness a lay-brother took only the vow of obedience. His
basic urge is to live away from human society, but so long as he must
remain in it, he is gentle and submissive.
-
In the scene we have just briefly discussed, the lay-brother's very
suppression of his own personal reaction to the scurrilous proposals
would suggest an inner horror and disgust, an almost conscious at-
tempt to free himself from any connection with the words he utters.
It is much later in the course of the dramatization that the lay-
brother appears again (IV, 1), and this scene (again with the Temp-
lar) bears directly upon the initial one (I, 4). In an opening mono-
logue, the "Klosterbruder" gives definite expression to his feeling
about the tasks assigned, and he also tells us, to some extent, why
he had become a hermit.
From the first line (1. 2381 - "Ja, ja! er hat schon recht, der Pa-
triarch!"), we may assume that he has been reprimanded by the
vile potentate for his failure to obtain the Templar's services in the
plot against Saladin. The simple and honorable "Klosterbruder"
concedes that his superior is quite right, that he has had no success in
carrying out this or other such tasks. He cannot understand why he
should be burdened with such orders, for it is most contrary to his
nature. He is not disposed by nature to thrust his nose everywhere,
to have a hand in everything –
(1. 2385)
-
"(mag) Mein Näschen nicht in alles stecken; mag
Mein Händchen nicht in allem haben."
The use of the diminutives quoted above very clearly conveys con-
tempt for the extensive meddling of the priesthood in affairs which
not only do not concern them, but which are scarcely worthy of
any whose lives should be dedicated to God alone. Thus the lay-
brother strikes a theme which is an overtone to the broader subject
of the drama: true humanity is not the exclusive property of a
particular confession, nor is religion in a deeply human sense the
exclusive property of the clerus. On the contrary, the Patriarch
and the monastic society busy themselves with affairs which have
nothing whatever to do with true religion (or true humanity). Just
42


as Al-Hafi embodied an uncompromising idealism which he found
could be preserved only by leaving society, so the "Klosterbruder"
finds, ironically enough, that his purpose in life runs counter to that
of the monastic society which surrounds him –
-
(1.2387 ff.) “(Bin) Ich darum aus der Welt geschieden, ich
Für mich; um mich für andre mit der Welt
Noch erst recht zu verwickeln?"
Like Al-Hafi, he has the hermit's instinct to keep himself free from
sullying alliances with the world. For the "Klosterbruder" the life!
among "Pfaffen" is the very antithesis of a life dedicated to God;
this his experience with the Patriarch has conclusively proved to
him.
That this is his innermost conviction, the ensuing conversation
with the Templar brings out most pointedly. The scene takes place
in a corridor of the cloister, and, consequently, when the good
brother catches sight of the Templar, he is both surprised and dis-
appointed, for he is convinced that the knight has reconsidered the
Patriarch's proposition. The expression which he lends to his dis-
appointment portrays explicitly his reaction to the unsavory task
which he had earlier performed and indirectly his words convey also
his contempt for its source
-
(1. 2395 ff.) "Der liebe Gott, der weiss,
Wie sauer mir der Antrag ward, den ich
Dem Herrn zu tun verbunden war. Er weiss,
Ob ich gewünscht, ein offnes Ohr bei Euch
Zu finden; weiss, wie sehr ich mich gefreut,
Im Innersten gefreut, dass Ihr so rund
Das alles, ohne viel Bedenken, von
Euch wies't, was einem Ritter nicht geziemt."
Indeed, the proposed assassination of Saladin would ill become the
honor of any knight, particularly one who owes his life to the in-
tended victim of the foully planned murder. How much less does
its hellish planning befit a Patriarch, an authority over priests and
the Christian community? The antipathy of the "Klosterbruder"
toward the Patriarch and all he stands for is immanent in his wonder
at the Templar's intent to ask advice of the potentate. His wonder
mounts when he realizes that the Templar has not come to the
cloister regarding the Patriarch's proposed plot, but concerning a
matter which the knight describes as "ziemlich pfaffisch"
(I. 2424 ff.)
"Gleichwohl fragt der Pfaffe
Den Ritter nie, die Sache sei auch noch
So ritterlich."
43


“Der Pfaffe” represents for the lay-brother the least desirable or
trustworthy source of serious counsel; the Patriarch is, to him, the
absolute antithesis of the godly man. The Templar, however, dis-
tinguishes between the Christian in the Patriarch and the man's
true nature; his problem concerns the Christian, not the officious
potentate. Consequently, he turns to the lay-brother, who posses-
ses the ingredient lacking in his superior ("Seid Ihr mein Patriarch!")
- pure humanity, pure religion, is not a form which cloaks the indi-
vidual, but is the man, himself. The "Klosterbruder", nevertheless,
is quite unwilling to share the Templar's problem; he reveals in
his reaction his instinctive aversion to entanglements with social
responsibilities -
(1. 2448 ff.) "Nicht weiter, Herr, nicht weiter!
Wozu? - Der Herr verkennt mich. - Wer viel weiss,
Hat viel zu sorgen; und ich habe ja
Mich einer Sorge nur gelobt. -"
Lessing represents hermithood in both the Dervish and the "Kloster-
bruder" as involving a desire to shed human responsibilities; the
weakness and flaw of the hermit-solution is that it is based upon
flight from the world instead of struggle with it. He does not wish
to know the nature of the Templar's query because it would, under
the circumstances, preoccupy him to an extent beyond his capacity
to cope with it. The sincere and virtuous "Klosterbruder" retires,
in principle, to his former hermithood (cf. quotation above), to the
life dedicated to God, alone; as we have seen, this life, or "Lebens-
einstellung" of the lay-brother has nothing whatever to do with the
ungodly, scurrilous meddling of the Patriarch – his problem cannot
concern the man of sincerity and virtue. This attitude indicates the
cloister-brother's attempt to maintain "spiritual hermithood"
beside his opposite number, the Patriarch. He retreats, of course,
not only from the Patriarch, but, as we have suggested, from the
world with its responsibilities.
-
Thus we see that Lessing's "Klosterbruder" hermit represents not
only a parallel in the spiritual realm to Al-Hafi, the Moslem ex-
ponent of humanity in the ethical-idealistic realm, but he also be-
comes the antithesis of the Patriarch. The juxtaposition of the Pa-
triarch and the "Klosterbruder" is pointedly illustrated by two
scenes - IV, 2 and IV, 7. In the first of these, we need refer only to
the Patriarch's response when the Templar informs him that Recha,
as a destitute foundling, would have perished, had Nathan not
taken her into his house. In spite of the fact that the Jew has been
a loving father to her, the Patriarch sees only Nathan's neglect in
not having her baptized -
-
44


(1. 2456 ff.) "Tut nichts! der Jude wird verbrannt!
- Denn besser,
Es wäre hier im Elend umgekommen,
Als dass zu seinem ewigen Verderben
Es so gerettet ward."
Even the inhumanly officious sham religiosity of the Patriarch has
no deep roots, for there is not substance enough, ironically, in his
inhumanity to hold them. When he realizes that the Templar has
Saladin's ear (1. 2583 ff.), the Patriarch gives up his decision to seek
Saladin's aid in punishing Nathan (1, 2570 ff.) (whose identity the
Templar rightfully withholds), for he fears the influence of the man
to whom the Sultan had shown grace - it is likely, too, that he fears
the Templar because the latter has knowledge of the vile plot
against Saladin's life. Finally, the Patriarch passes off the entire
question as a hypothetical problem -
(1. 2599 ff.) "(Das wär so wiederum ein Auftrag für
Den Bruder Bonafides.) - Hier, mein Sohn!"
This conclusion to the scene is filled with acid irony and also with
deep truth, for, in the Patriarch's decision to pass the matter on to
the lay-brother (aptly characterized by his name - cf. quote above)
the problem falls, in reality, into the hands of the sincere, godly
man who, for once, has a "task" worthy of him a "task" which
does not immediately concern the Patriarch as long as he fears to
carry it out, himself, in his accustomed inhuman manner.
-
The second of the scenes to which we have referred (IV, 7) con-
trasts the "Klosterbruder" definitively with his superior; it also
completes Lessing's portrait of the lay-brother's character in rela-
tion to his hermithood. In the scene discussed above, the poet had
delineated the Patriarch mercilessly as an example of the clerus
whose "religion" has nothing to do with humanity or God. In the
present scene (IV, 7), the lay-brother's analysis of the problem re-
garding Recha's upbringing reveals his "natural", or pure, huma-
nity, his compassion which transcends outer forms -
(1. 3017 ff.) "Wenn nur das Mädchen sonst gesund und fromm
Vor Euern Augen aufgewachsen ist,
So blieb's vor Gottes Augen, was es war."
Had Nathan given the child over to be brought up as a Christian by
others, it would not have received the love which was its due and
which Nathan was able to give the daughter of his friend. The pro-
found understanding of the "“Klosterbruder" prompts Nathan_to
tell of the ghastly deaths of his wife and seven sons (3039-45) and of
his gratitude to God, who gave him Recha to supplant, in part, his
45


tragic loss (1. 3063-66). The painful but heart-warming tale inspires
the good brother to the exclamation which, perhaps, best sums up
his compassion and humanity
(1. 3067 ff.) "- Bei Gott, Ihr seid ein Christ.!
Ein bessrer Christ war nie!”
The "Klosterbruder" means here the pervading spirit of any religion
worthy of man - love - rather than of any superficially distinguish-
ing quality. He is, as we have seen, a man who feels spiritually and
universally. He calls Nathan a "Christian", because his own re-
ligion conveys to him spiritual strength. (He can think of no higher
praise, nevertheless, of Nathan's pure humanity than to call him a
true Christian; in his simple mind, he associates such feeling as
Nathan's with that which he considers characteristic of his own
religion - there is, therefore, a sectarian coloring in the lay-brother's
expression of human understanding.)
This scene also provides the most specific information about the
cloister-brother's hermithood. There are elements in his back-
ground which remind us involuntarily of certain motifs in Simpli-
cissimus. The "Klosterbruder" had been a trooper in the service of
Recha's father, Wolf von Filnek, a Crusader, eighteen years earlier
(1. 2970-2981). When his wife died shortly after the child's birth,
the crusader sent the trooper with Recha to his friend, Nathan; the
latter was to care for the child, until the father returned from battle.
Wolf von Filnek, however, fell at Askalon (1. 2986) and the trooper
preserved the "Brevier" which eventually provides information
regarding the interrelationship of the major characters. We do not
know specifically why the trooper became a hermit, but we may
assume that (like Simplicius' father) he was horrified at the pillage
and destruction of war, and, therefore, sought peace and salvation
in a life of lonely contemplation. It is also possible that sorrow over
the death of Wolf von Filnek (1. 2983 ff.) was an additional motive.
The cause of interruption in the lay-brother's hermithood was
beyond his control. He had been taken from his cell near Jericho by
Arab marauders who destroyed it (1.2935 ff.). Having escaped
from them, he fled to the Patriarch to obtain from him another
hermitage where he might spend the rest of his days in God's service
(1. 2942 ff.) "Allwo ich meinem Gott in Einsamkeit
Bis an mein selig Ende dienen könne."
(It is interesting to note that the lay-brother's first mountain her-
mitage, Quarantana, was the alleged scene of Christ's temptation,
where He fasted forty days (hence its name); it was frequently the
abode of medieval hermits - see Anmerkungen, V. 2936, Lessings
Werke, p. 76). As we have seen, the "Klosterbruder" has suffered
46


-
-
during his stay in the cloister because of the incompatibility of his
adopted way of life with that of the nefarious Patriarch; yet he has
remained true to himself. In contrast to the Patriarch, Lessing
chose to represent in the "Klosterbruder" a deeply human and
compassionate Christianity. To do so, he created in the lay-brother
a sincere and simple man (who cannot even read – 1. 3108) – a man
of the lower classes ("ein Reitknecht") who is motivated by natural
feeling and devotion to God. In this respect, he contrasts also with
the more intellectual Al-Hafi (a chess enthusiast) who might be
designated as an idealistic and ethical rationalist (that is not to say
that he is not also devoted to God, for we have seen the interpreta-
tion of blasphemy which he applied to his particular situation).
If the "Klosterbruder" was influenced initially in becoming a
hermit by his war experience and his devotion to God, he has, since,
evolved further reasons for wishing to return to hermithood -
(1. 2950 ff.) "Da bin ich itzt, Herr Nathan; und verlange
Des Tags wohl hundertmal auf Tabor. Denn
Der Patriarch braucht mich zu allerlei,
Wovor ich grossen Ekel habe."
mount of transfiguration
(Tabor is the
kungen, p. 76, quoted above.)
-
cf. reference to Anmer-
The return to isolation will mean for the "Klosterbruder", in
addition to his original longing for peace in God, a flight from the
official representatives of a dogmatic and officious way of life which
impedes and degrades the man of genuine devotion and virtue.
While Al-Hafi, the idealist, flies from a society of false and (to him)
blasphemous magnanimity, the "Klosterbruder" will depart from
a society of sham religiosity and downright wickedness. It is not,
however, only from the Patriarch and such men that he flees, but
from all human society; he wishes to have no part of the world, for
it is an impediment to complete devotion to God. We may add,
nevertheless, that, of all the hermit figures in this study (with the
possible exception of Trevrizent in the Introduction) who are con-
ceived in a traditionally Christian manner, the "Klosterbruder” re-
presents the deepest and most moving expression of Christianity,
itself. But, in the portrayal of both Al-Hafi and the "Klosterbruder",
Lessing does also imply a criticism of the negative and socially
unfruitful solution of religious problems by hermithood.
(7) While in Lessing's drama both Al-Hafi and the "Kloster-
bruder" wish to dwell apart from society to preserve a conviction
which is, to them, a way of life, Chamisso's romantic hermit, Peter
Schlemihl, flees from society because of the loss of something which
belongs intrinsically to him as a social individual - his shadow.
Schlemihl's relationship to society is based upon this particular
47


object (or, rather, his lack of it). In this respect, the meaning of the
shadow is of great importance; Oskar Walzel, in his introduction to
Chamissos Werke (Deutsche-National-Literatur, p. LVII-LVIII),
lists an overwhelming number of interpretations of the shadow's
symbolic meaning. To attribute to the shadow a specific value or
significance, however, runs counter to the theme of this "Märchen".
Thomas Mann refers to the shadow in his essay, Chamisso (Essays of
Three Decades, p. 257), where he calls it "a symbol of all bourgeois
solidity and human belongingness"; Walzel treats of it as a kind of
"Scheinwert" (p. LX - cf. reference to Walzel above). To endow
the shadow with more definite characteristics than the writers just
cited have done would rob the Schlemihl-hermit theme of its univer-
sality; it is precisely the indefiniteness of the shadow as a concept
which lends to Chamisso's tale much of its depth. Chamisso, him-
self, supported this stand in the preface to the French edition of
1838 (Chamissos Werke, Bd. 2, p. 285 and p. 458), in which he an-
swered with elegant sarcasm the queries of those who desired to
know for their learned edification, the explicit meaning of the sha-
dow (of course his explanation explained nothing). With tasteful
humor, he cited a scientific definition of the shadow from a treatise
on elementary physics, and summed up by indicating the theme of
the tale - "Die Finanzwissenschaft belehrt uns hinlänglich über die
Wichtigkeit des Geldes; die des Schattens ist minder allgemein aner-
kannt. Mein unbesonnener Freund hat sich nach dem Gelde ge-
lüsten lassen, dessen Wert er kannte, und nicht an das Solide ge-
dacht" ("Das Solide" is the French "le solide" referring in the trea-
tise to the shadow - Chamisso plays on the double meaning of this
word in the original French).
The shadow is, then, an intrinsic possession or characteristic of the
individual as a member of society. It has no value as long as one
has it; its lack, however, is of alarming importance, for the absence
of the shadow sets Schlemihl apart from society - without it he does
not "belong". Having incurred a kind of "faustian" guilt through
the exchange of his shadow for the magic purse of Fortunatus,
Schlemihl renounces all ties with society, including his wealth. His
hermithood is his salvation, for in it he turns to nature, and lives for
his better self - Schlemihl's hermithood becomes the apotheosis of
individualism which achieves independence of society and its
"Scheinwerte" through painful experience.
The tale takes the form of a memoir written by Schlemihl from
his hermitage, which he has allegedly delivered to his friend, Cha-
misso, in Berlin (during the latter's absence - Chamisso was at
Kunersdorf composing the tale). This form permits the hermit to
look back upon his experiences, and evaluate them as developments
toward his final way of life – as in Hyperion or Die Braut von Messina
48


(1. 2104 - "Von dem Berg der aufgewälzten Jahre"), as well as in
Eichendorff's Eine Meerfahrt (Don Diego's rocky island in the south
seas). Such hermits, forever removed from the world, survey their
arduous progress through it.
The instigation to acquire the wealth which costs him his shadow
is occasioned when the modest and unprepossessing Schlemihl
arrives at the garden party of wealthy Herr John (Chap. I, Chamis-
sos Werke, Bd. 2). He is received very well by his host (Schlemihl
says with sarcasm) – “wie ein Reicher einen armen Teufel" (p. 292).
During the initial conversation, John is scarcely aware of his poor
visitor, and continues the apostrophe to wealth which is the subject
of discourse among the assembled guests - "Wer nicht Herr ist
wenigstens einer Million, der ist, man verzeihe mir das Wort, ein
Schuft!" These words, of course, arouse the envy of Schlemihl, who
views with wonder the effete doings of his host and party. The poor
fellow's feeling of inferiority and longing is aroused; his exclamatory
reaction to John - "O wie wahr!" discloses the susceptibility
which makes of him an easy mark for the subsequent bargaining of
the "gray man". The effeteness of the society which treasures wealth
so highly must be born in mind, as well as the fact that John has
sold, not his shadow, but his soul to the gray man (Chap. VIII,
p. 337), for Schlemihl's hermithood embodies a rejection of this
society's standard of values, and thus it becomes the means of his
salvation.
-
-
-
It is only when his "Schattenlosigkeit" becomes the butt of mock-
ery, horror, and pity of all ages and sexes after his departure from
John's estate that the first impact of Schlemihl's error strikes him.
He hurls his gold into the streets to stave off attention, and climbs
into a coach to weep over the lot which has befallen him - (II,
p. 298) "Es musste schon die Ahnung in mir aufsteigen: dass, um so
viel das Gold auf Erden Verdienst und Tugend überwiegt, um so viel
der Schatten höher als selbst das Gold geschätzt werde - in
other words, the world's perverse valuation of "Scheingüter" above
true values. Schlemihl locks himself in his rooms, and hurls himself
upon his heap of gold, wallowing in it in a fit of sensuous madness.
The more he seeks to rise in esteem, however, the more defiantly
his lack of a shadow impedes Schlemihl's striving to attain hap-
piness. At one of his soirees (III, end), the lovely Fanny, who had
originally ignored him at John's, is attracted to him obviously
because of his wealth (although she does not remember having met
him before). The supercilious persiflage which Schlemihl has learn-
ed to use as commensurate with his social position impresses her
greatly. Yet when she sees only her own shadow before her in the
full moonlight, she falls into a swoon in spite of his wealth and effete
polish. The incident bears out conclusively Schlemihl's anticipatory
49


estimation of his lot as quoted previously - wealth may be of more
importance to many than true virtue, but to all the "Scheinwert"
which qualifies "belonging" is primary.
-
It is the unhappy experience with Mina, nevertheless, which brings
Schlemihl's sense of guilt to its zenith; the outcome of the affair
makes it possible for him to reject finally the pact which might have
given him both wealth and shadow (as in the case of Herr John)
but at the price of his soul. This experience ripens to the extent
that he is able eventually, also, to reject society and its standards
for the hermithood in nature. The weight of the episode lies in the
fact that Mina loves Schlemihl in spite of his wealth and in spite of
his "Schattenlosigkeit." This she expresses (IV, p. 314) when her
lover somewhat cryptically explains that his destiny is to be decided
on the last day of the coming month (the day on which the gray
man had promised to arrange a new bargain - II, end) - "ich habe
keinen Anspruch an dich. - Bist du elend, binde mich an dein Elend,
dass ich es dir tragen helfe." Her love for him remains constant
even when she discovers that his shadow is missing (IV, end). On
the evening following Schlemihl's declaration to Mina's father of his
intent to marry her, he visits Mina in her garden. As he approaches
her, she makes an involuntary motion (probably one of surprise or
shock), and Schlemihl thinks at once of the evening with Fanny
when he had exposed himself to the moonlight - but Mina "warf sich
stille weinend an meine Brust. Ich ging." We may be assured that
Mina had also observed the nature of his plight, but her father pre-
fers to give his daughter's hand to Rascal - overriding his wife's
suspicions, for that scoundrel is not only wealthy, but is in posses-
sion of a flawless shadow.
-
Although the gray man makes Schlemihl witness the family scene
which breaks Mina's heart, the drive to rebel against "Scheinwert"
remains dominant in him. He had previously refused to sign the
contract which would have regained the shadow at the price of his
soul (V, p. 320). So now, too, the "dunkler Drang" to save his soul
even at the price of Mina's happiness manifests itself (VI, end-VII,
p. 329) – when the gray man, holding parchment and pen, draws a
drop of blood, Schlemihl is saved by a fainting spell. The faint,
which Schlemihl characterizes as an event (“Ereignis") rather than
a deed (“Tat”), is probably a result of the struggle in his heart be-
tween the desire to save Mina and the revulsion against any further
dealing with the gray man. He respects, nevertheless, the necessity
which drives his destiny and that of others like cogwheels in the
great machine of life.
The burden of the entire experience with Mina has, as we have
stated, the greatest importance as motivation for Schlemihl's turn
inward to himself, for his development toward hermithood. His
50


refusal to sign away his soul in order to regain his shadow adds
Mina's heartbreak to his original guilt and, when he revives from his
faint (VII, p. 330), she has been married to Rascal. Consequently
the strongest existing motive for recovering the shadow is removed,
and Schlemihl leaves the scene of his greatest guilt and deepest
sadness, utterly alone - (VII, end) "und entfernte mich unter dem
Mantel der Nacht von dem Grabe meines Lebens, unbekümmert,
welchen Weg mein Pferd mich führen werde; denn ich hatte weiter
auf Erden kein Ziel, keinen Wunsch, keine Hoffnung."
The loss of Mina throws Schlemihl completely upon himself and
he accepts his lot as a man apart; this conscious acceptance of his
fate renders possible, consequently, the decision which severs all
ties forever with the gray man and with society, and leaves open
the path to hermithood. In this state of mind, then, he is followed
by the gray man (VIII) who, as he says, holds him fast by his shad-
ow. When the odious gray gentleman concisely explains that a
wealthy man must possess a shadow in the world, Schlemihl re-
mains resolute – (VIII, p. 335) “Nachdem ich meine Liebe hingeop-
fert, nachdem mir das Leben verblasst war, wollt ich meine Seele
nicht, sei es um alle Schatten der Welt, dieser Kreatur verschreiben."
The shadow, the "Scheinwert" requisite to wealth and social stan-
ding, which had seemed earlier of such crucial importance, now,
since the disheartening Mina "Erlebnis", becomes almost nothing
when it is weighed against the soul - the individual, himself.
-
Thus it is clear to Schlemihl, as the gray man displays John's
pale and distorted form to him on a lonely mountain gorge, that
his wealth, the "Glücksäckel", binds him to his insidious companion.
Wealth and shadow are inextricably connected with one another at
the price of the soul. The condemnation which John's soul utters
through its corpse-like lips crushes Schlemihl with its horrifying
revelation, and he flings the magic purse into the abyss, freeing
himself from the gray man and from wealth and shadow values
henceforth.
-
Freed from the ghastly weight which had haunted him, Schlemihl
lies down to rest. A lovely dream visits him, in which those he has
loved best appear – Mina, Bendel (and Chamisso, himself) weaving
graceful dance patterns over a lovely landscape – and all are without
shadows (one is immediately reminded, of course, of "Anmutige
Gegend", Faust II). To be sure, upon awakening Schlemihl remains
an outcast because he has no shadow, but this state leads him to
seek work in a mine, where his "Schattenlosigkeit" would be less
obvious. Rainy weather ruins his shoes on the way and he acquires
by accident the Seven-League Boots which reveal to him the wonders
of nature on his round-the-world jaunt. This incident provides the
final turning point in his career - (X, beginning) "Ich fiel in stummer
51


-
Andacht auf meine Knie und vergoss Tränen des Dankes - denn klar
stand plötzlich meine Zukunft vor meiner Seele." Separated from
society through "frühe Schuld", he turns to the realm of nature, the
world of the man who lives for his better self. The love of the indi-
vidualist for nature is not a sudden development in him, for it is
inherent in the man who frees himself from social "Scheinwerte"
(X, beginning) "und meine Selbstzufriedenheit hat von dem Zu-
sammenfallen des Dargestellten mit dem Urbild abgehangen”.
When Schlemihl passes through the Egyptian desert, and sees
Thebes of the hundred gates, the obvious decision is made. (Thebes,
the capital of upper Egypt, became in the fifth century A. D. the
original site of Christian hermitages, and was the scene of many
early martydoms - Schweizer Lexikon). Thus, Schlemihl goes not
to the “Wald”, as do most of the hermits in German literary tradi-
tion, but to the desert dwellings of the first Christian hermits
(hermit, "Eremit" - from Greek "pnuitno", a "lone-dweller" -
"épnμoo", lonely - cf. Merriam-Webster). He reverts to the most
ancient Christian hermit tradition. Here Schlemihl decides to be-
come a hermit, and selects the cave of a former solitary. He will
spend his life as a recluse far from society, living for his better self
and devoted to the study of nature and the natural sciences so dear
to him (an interesting reflection of Chamisso's own botanic studies).
The stay in the "Schlemihlium" affords him the opportunity to
learn that Mina and Bendel, resigned to their early experience, have
found happiness in charitable work. Schlemihl, however, has found
himself, and adheres firmly to his newly discovered way of life -
"willst du unter den Menschen leben, so lerne verehren zuvorderst
den Schatten, sodann das Geld. Willst du nur dir und deinem bes-
sern Selbst leben, o, so brauchst du keinen Rat.'
For social "success," "Scheinwerte" such as shadows and gold are
essential, but for the true individualist (the hermit) they are nothing.
Thus the hermit, Peter Schlemihl, embodies the extreme and con-
centrated individualism which casts off the questionable standards
required by society. As the result of his Faustian struggle, he turns
inward, and discovers solace in nature as a source of knowledge of
the true world - the only world for the better self.
It is not surprising that, in the works previously discussed, those
hermit figures who most strongly oppose the valid world of nature
to the false standards of society belong to the "Sturm und Drang”
-the analysis of the motivation for hermithood in Satyros and Sturm
und Drang reveals this juxtaposition of values in the hermit (or
"hermit-to-be", in the case of Blasius). In the cases of all hermit
figures in this chapter, however, the conflicts involve a rejection of
accepted social standards which are felt to be damaging to the
integrity of the individual, or, at least, to his well-being. It is also
52


not surprising that the majority of hermit figures in this chapter
occur in "Storm and Stress" works, for that movement accentuated
the positive and natural qualities of the individual in relationship
to society (that this is also true of Lessing is understood - although,
as we have seen, on a different plane).
It is interesting to note that, while the majority of the hermits dis-
cussed so far has been localized in the "Wald" (in pursuance of
German love for the forest both in a religious and in a nature-sense),
Schlemihl withdraws to the original locale of the earliest Christian
hermits or "Wüstenväter" in the Thebaid.
Schlemihl's hermit solution is somewhat similar to Hyperion's.
Both figures withdraw from society to timeless nature. In both
works there is severe criticism of society: the hero saves his soul and
finds contentment only by renouncing society for nature, the source
of healing and innocence.
Chamisso's Schlemihl-hermit is a most opportune figure with
which to conclude this chapter, for, just as Romanticism developed
many of the themes of "Sturm und Drang", so Peter Schlemihl's
development to hermithood embodies in its motifs most of the
themes observed in the preceding hermit figures, together with the
strong individualism typical of Romanticism (and of "Sturm und
Drang").
Peter Schlemihl, nevertheless, also appears fittingly at the conclu-
sion of this chapter because of the characteristics which make it
transitional to the next. As our analysis of the motives for his her-
mithood have disclosed, the hermit, Schlemihl, reveals to an intenser
degree the subjective state of mind in the struggle of the individual
to retain his essential individuality in relationship to society - thus,
too, he is similar to Klinger's Blasius in Sturm und Drang. In this
respect, the theme of the tragic or unhappy love experience plays
an important role. We have examined here the hermit in his re-
lationship to society and his rejection of its values; in the next we
see the essential personality of the hermit revealed by problems of
a more intimate, subjective nature.
53


CHAPTER III
THE INNER CONFLICT
A. (1) In the two principal versions of Goethe's Erwin und Elmire,
1775 and 1787, Erwin retires to mountain peace, because his sincere
and open expressions of love have not been returned, but even scorn-
ed by the coquettish Elmire. The atmosphere of the little operetta
is light and full of rococo flavor. Although the work was frankly
designed to delight, rather than to stir deeply, the arias allotted to
both Erwin and Elmire are, as might be expected from Goethe,
intense lyrical expressions of their emotions - this is also not sur-
prising when one imagines in the verses echoes of the Goethe - Lili
relationship.
The hermit theme differs slightly in the earlier version from that of
the later one. In the variant of 1775, there is only Erwin, while
that of 1787 contains two hermits - the deceased recluse, whose her-
mitage Erwin assumes, and Erwin, himself. The treatments of
Erwin as a hermit vary also in several respects.
In the first version (Der junge Goethe, Bd. V), when we see Erwin
working in the garden before his hut, it is apparent that his solitude
has brought him anything but peace (p. 53). He has fled the world,
as we know, because Elmire, who actually does love him, has seemed
to mock his feeling (p. 47 ff.). Erwin's hermithood has not only
brought no comfort, but it has aggravated his pain and sorrow;
isolation has not created in him a resignation to his lot, but rather an
emotional conflict which had not existed before - (p. 53) "Welchen
Entschluss hab ich gefasst! Was hab ich gethan! Sie nicht mehr
sehn! Abgerissen von ihr! Und fühlst du nicht, Armseliger, dass
der beste Theil deines Lebens zurückgeblieben ist, und das übrige
nach und nach traurig absterben wird!" Added to the sorrow over
Elmire's treatment of him is the feeling that his resolution robs him
of the doubtful satisfaction of ever seeing her again. Thus, Erwin's
solitude occasions a state of mental torture. His flight hardly
prevents him from seeing her lovely form before his mind's eye, while
it does incite him to maddening curiosity as to whether she may be
concerned at all about his fate. Although Erwin has become a her-
mit to still the pain of his heartbreak, he is aroused to longing for
the life he has left. The latter aspect of his dualistic emotional
condition conflicts, of course, with his firm decision to part from the
54


-
world (p. 54) "und mich umgibt die ewig einfache, die ewig neue
Qual, dumpfer und peinigender, als die mich in ihrer Gegenwart
fasste." The exposition of Erwin's emotions, his confused feelings,
which are typical of the "Sturm und Drang" Goethe, finds its most
intense expression in the aria which concludes Erwin's monologue -
(p. 54)
"Inneres Wühlen
Ewig zu fühlen;
Immer verlangen,
Nimmer erlangen;
Fliehen und streben,
Sterben und leben,
Höllische Qual
Endig einmal."
The restlessly tossing rhythms of this poem, anticipating the equally
contradictory feelings of Klärchen's song, "Himmelhoch jauchzend/
Zum Tode betrübt", (absent from the 1787 version) convey through
the pairs of contrasted verbs ending each of the first six verses
("Wühlen-fühlen," etc.) the hermit's inner struggle to attain peace
of mind the last two verses sum up the fervent wish which so far
remains unfulfilled.
-
In this emotional state, therefore, Erwin finds the visit of Bernar-
do most unwelcome - Bernardo has also directed the repentant
Elmire to the hermit that he may comfort her (thus he accomplishes
the reconciliation of the lovers, p. 50-52). Bernardo is an intruder
from the world which Erwin strives, with so little success, to thrust
from his mind; his coming means increased renewal of the pangs
which tear the hermit, and withhold from him the soothing calm
of solitude. Consequently, Erwin presents a defiant attitude to
Bernardo's entreaties to return. His unhappy experience has dis-
colored all communal life in his eyes; perhaps this outlook is a sub-
conscious means of maintaining his hermithood (p. 55) "Der
Welt? wie lieb ist mirs, dass ich mich heraus gerettet habe. Es hat
mich gekostet; nun bin ich geborgen. Mein Schmerz ist Labsal
gegen das, was ich in dem verfluchten Neste von allen Seiten auszu-
stehen hatte." (Erwin refers indirectly, perhaps to his lack of
means - cf. Erwin, p. 55 mid., and Olimpia, p. 44 bot.)
-
Erwin's hermithood represents a state in which he intends to re-
tain himself by force of will - (p. 55) "Ich habe geschworen, ich
kehre nicht zurück!" This is the case, because his solitary mountain
abode has become a battleground of emotional drives, rather than a
solace to the disappointment which brought him there. As a result,
when Erwin unmasks himself to Elmire and the two rejoicing lovers
return to a happy and harmonious life, the former hermit almost
neglects taking leave of the hermitage which has been the scene
55


-
of lonely suffering – (p. 65) “Ich gehe, und schaue mich nicht nach
dir um! danke dir nicht! ehre dich nicht! sage dir kein Lebewohl,
du freundlichste Wirthin meines Elends -." Yet he reproaches him-
self for this neglect (which is due to Elmire's charms - "Mädchen
was macht Ihr uns nicht vergessen!"), and dedicates a tear to the
hospitable little hut.
-
In this version of Erwin und Elmire, the recluse who seeks consola-
tion in solitude because of disappointment in love is conceived as a
sufferer, a victim, even when isolated, of an intense emotional dua-
lism the peace he struggles to attain is denied him. The older,
wiser Bernardo, on the other hand, raises his voice (duet with Erwin,
p. 55) against hermithood as being a solution for the weak, an ex-
pression of "Lebensunfähigkeit"; he praises the life of the citizen
who earns his living, and creates a household -
"Erdennoth ist keine Noth,
Als dem Feig und Matten.
Arbeit schafft dir täglich Brod.
Dach und Fach und Schatten.
Rings, wo Gottes Sonne scheint,
Findst ein Mädchen, findst einen Freund,
Lass uns immer bleiben!"
The hermit theme assumes somewhat different coloring in the op-
eretta of 1787. (The material of both forms is traceable to Rousseau's
Devin du village and a ballad in the Vicar of Wakefield cf. Der
junge Goethe, VI, p. 452 ff.). The "Sturm und Drang" character of
the earlier form, which is apparent in Erwin's more violent emotion-
al conflict, and to which the prose of the spoken passages strongly
contributes, fades in the later work in favor of a rococo-elegiac tone.
This is largely due, not only to the new verse setting and the sup-
planting of Olimpia and Bernardo by the additional pair of lovers,
Rosa and Valerio, but, for our purposes, most particularly to the
motif of the old, deceased hermit (and, obviously, to the transfor-
mation in Goethe, himself, between '75 and '87).
Where, in the form previously discussed, Erwin's hermithood
occasions a consuming emotional conflict, the introduction of the
old hermit, the former inhabitant of Erwin's chosen abode, changes
the "Stimmung" to one of nostalgic or plaintive calm in the final
version. Although the old hermit has already died before the action
takes place, his influence in it is strong and we are given an accurate
impression of him as a recluse.
It is Valerio who characterizes the recluse when he directs Elmire
to him for comfort and consolation (unlike Bernardo, Valerio has no
idea of Erwin's whereabouts). Even in Valerio's description of the
56


path to the hermitage, a healing power is ascribed to the peaceful
natural surroundings
(1. 284 ff.)
""
- es wird dir wohl
Auf diesem Wege werden, wohler noch,
Wenn du das Heiligtum erreichst."
The hermit draws spiritual strength from nature, which gives him
the power to impart the calm of his spirit to others; thus, identified
with the healing, eternal aspect of nature, the solitary is conceived
as knowing more of life than others (cf. Braut von Messina, Part
IV) he possesses its inexpressible secrets -
(1. 291 ff.)
"Und trügt mich nicht, was ich an ihm bemerkt,
Sein ungetrübtes freies Auge schaut
Die Ferne klar, die uns im Nebel liegt.
Die Melodie des Schicksals, die um uns
In tausend Kreisen klingend sich bewegt,
Vernimmt sein Ohr; und wir erhaschen kaum
Nur abgebrochene Töne hier und da."
--
a
Erwin is revealed (Zweiter Aufzug) singing his aria, "Ihr verblühet,
süsse Rosen" (as in the early version), but its elegiac tone does not
change in the monologue which follows it, but, rather, a veil of
tranquil melancholy is spread over the unhappy love experience
transparent veil, however, which lets Erwin's pain and sorrow be
expressed in softer rhythms of poignant reflection. This pain,
nevertheless, which is renewed through memory of Elmire's beauty,
never assumes the violent proportions of the emotional conflict in
the version previously discussed. Even though memory of Elmire
increases his sorrow and longing in solitude, the reflective tone in
Erwin's expression of it implies that he has found, at least, a
measure of peace –
(1. 480 ff.)
"Je tiefer sich die Sonne hinter Wolken
Und Nebel bergen mag, je trüber sich
Der Schmerz um meine Seele legt -"
and when his longing approaches in its intensity a desire to regain
her fleeting image by returning to her (1. 495 ff.), he invokes the
spirit of the ancient hermit, for the soothing tranquility of his soul
still pervades the garden where he lies buried. (Erwin had received
comfort from the harmonious man in times past, and, therefore, has
chosen his dwelling-place for his own retreat.) When he thinks of
his old mentor's example, peace comes over him and the phantom
voice of Elmire is silent in his mind -
57


(1. 514 ff.)
"Welch ein Lispeln, welch ein Schauer
Weht vom Grabe des Geliebten!
Ja, es wehet dem Betrübten
Sanften Frieden in das Herz."
Valerio, also, has resolved to seek seclusion, having lost patience
with Rosa because of her petty jealousies
(1. 377 ff.)
"Nein! Nein, ich folge jenem Trieb, der mir
Schon lang den Weg zur Flucht gezeigt, schon lange
Mich deiner Tyrannei auf ewig zu
Entziehen hiess."
He, too, hopes to find the calm which solitude in nature has granted
the old hermit (1. 529 ff.), and, dedicating his life to loneliness, he
swears an oath to lofty forest and waterfall. Since Erwin is heir, in
a sense, to the spiritual calm with which his predecessor had imbued
the hermitage, Valerio's arrival is welcome to him (1. 551 ff.) – al-
though, as in the prose version, his visitor occasions the return of
visions from which he had found a measure of release (1. 582 ff.).
-
When the two girls appear and Elmire (1. 779 ff.) expresses her
penitence, Erwin plays the role of comforting father-confessor, dis-
guised in a robe (a new one in which the modest old hermit disdained
to be buried) and in a beard improvised from Valerio's shorn blond
locks.
After the joyous reconciliation has taken place, there is a note of
thankfulness in the rejoicing of the lovers as they depart, for the
hermitage of the kindly old recluse has brought harmony into their
hearts. Even though Erwin admits –
(1.885 ff.)
-
"Ohne Träne kann ich lassen
Diese Hütte, dieses Grab" -
he feels no antipathy toward the retreat (as in the early version)
but, rather, gratitude, for it gave him peace in time of his greatest
need, and the spirit of the old hermit, which dominates the lonely
hermitage, has, as it were, also given the lovers comfort and reunion-
(1. 887 ff.)
"Oft, durch unser ganzes Leben
Bringen wir der stillen Hütte
Neuen Dank und neue Bitte,
Dass uns bleibe, was sie gab.
""
In this version of the "Singspiel," then, Erwin does find in hermit-
hood a large measure of peace and consolation for his heartbreak,
and the source of tranquility and comfort is nature. Most important
in this connection, however, is the role which the old hermit plays,
for, in spite of the fact that he is characterized only through the
58


other persons, it is he whose spirit lends its calm to the hermitage.
Thus, he embodies a kind of ideal of the hermit; identified with
nature from which he has drawn a higher knowledge of life, he is
able to impart to others the harmonious repose which he has found -
that his influence may be felt even after his death testifies to the
eternal harmony with nature in which he had lived. The interpre-
tation of eternal calm in nature found embodied in this hermit
figure is typical of Goethe; together with the longing for it we find
it expressed in many other works of his such as Wanderers Nachtlied,
1 and 11, or An den Mond ("Füllest wieder Busch und Tal").
(2) Lenz's unfinished novel in letters, Der Waldbruder, "ein Pen-
dant zu Werthers Leiden" (also partly inspired by Rousseau's
Nouvelle Heloise) has for its hero a hermit figure who stands in
strong contrast to Goethe's Erwin. Unlike Erwin, who has been
scorned by his beloved, and, therefore, turns to nature and solitude
to calm the turbulence of his emotions, Lenz's hermit, Herz, re-
moves himself to the Odenwald out of an exalted and idealistic love
for Gräfin Stella- there is no question of her scorning his love, and
he knows her only through her letters. His lofty passion assumes
the form of "Liebesschwärmerei" and he becomes a hermit pri-
marily to preserve his ideal emotion from the sophisticated crit-
icism of his friends in courtly society. The solitude of nature and
the purity of simple living is best designed to nurture such a feeling –
Herz lives rather for the ideal emotion, than for the source which
inspires it. Also unlike Erwin, who, tempted by thoughts of Elmire,
I seeks release from a longing to return to her, Herz is (for a time, at
least) thoroughly happy in the life he has chosen, and is impervious
to all efforts of Rothe to coax him back.
-
The novel reflects Lenz's love experience with _Henriette_von
Waldner in Weimar (cf. Schriften, V, p. 390, and Rosanow, Lenz,
Chap. XII) and it is interesting to note that Lenz, like Herz, fled
to the “Waldeinsamkeit” at Berka in the Thuringian forest on June
27, 1776, taking nothing with him but what he happened to be
wearing (Rosanow, p. 350) - it was during his stay in the lonely
forest town that he composed Der Waldbruder.
There is a kind of "romantische Ironie" in the novel, for, since the
story is told in the letters, not only of Herz, but in those of his
friends and acquaintances, we have his idealistic point of view
(Honesta calls him a "Werther", and characterizes his attitude as
"romantisch" - Schriften, p. 119) as well as the amusedly sympathet-
ic analyses of him by Rothe and the mocking of Fräulein Schatouil-
leuse. Herz is, of course, Lenz, himself, while Rothe, his best friend,
is Goethe. Although Herz eloquently defends his way of life, it be-
comes apparent through the letters of the other correspondents that
he is quite pathological; he lives in a state of complete illusion
59


(“Wahn”) which is utter reality to him. As long as Herz is able to
live exclusively for his ideal of love in the solitude of nature, he is
safe and, in his own way, happy, but when he leaves his hermitage
and involves others in his affair, his career may be expected to end
tragically (pp. 135 and 138).
Rothe's final letter to Plettenberg (p. 142-145) shows that Herz's
search for an ideal love was instilled in him in his youth. He had
envisioned his guardian's mistress as a nymph in the Iliad, which
he had been reading with his tutor at the age of eleven. Subsequent
idealizations inspired by the heroines of Goethe and Wieland and
by Klopstock's Cidli all led to disappointment. Herz would have
killed himself (p. 144) but for the fact that he considered suicide a
sin. Rothe, however, fears the outcome of an additional disappoint-
ment, for Herz is convinced that he has, at last, found the ideal
woman in Stella, Plettenberg's fiancee.
The letters of Honesta in the third part of the novel (p. 132-139)
describe the immediate background and (especially in the third
letter) the motivation for Herz's hermithood. Through the machin-
ation of Frau Hohl, a homely widow who, herself, had designs on
Herz, the young idealist and dreamer became acquainted with the
letters of Stella (p. 134), and fell violently in love with the sublime
revelation of feminine character and intellect contained in them
Stella represents a variation of the "schöne Seele" and it is with this
aspect of womanhood that Herz is obsessed. Frau Hohl was also
initially responsible for concealing from him the knowledge of
Stella's engagement to Plettenberg, for she hoped, through his
eventual disappointment, to interest Herz in herself. In his fantas-
tic attempts to find and behold the object of his adoration, Herz had
run through his money, gone into debt, and, consequently, rather
than incur obligation to the Widow Hohl, he had abruptly left the
city to become a hermit.
—
Having become a "Waldbruder", Herz finds in the solitude of
nature a world and way of life commensurate with the purity and
loftiness of his idealized emotion as his name would suggest, Herz
is a man of feeling, a masculine "schöne Seele". He dwells in a
hut roofed with moss and leaves, and rejoices in the splendor of the
surrounding country. From the mountains he looks down into a
wide valley crossed by a stream, where the houses of the simple
country folk are situated. Their way of life represents for Herz a
pure and natural happiness he calls them "Adamskinder"
(p. 109) – and he envies them the certainty and security of the lim-
ited joys afforded by their uniform living (his reaction is similar to
Werther's pleasure in observing the simple, "natural" occupations
of poor villagers). The hermit figure here is eloquent statement of
—
60


that Rousseauistic back-to-nature creed which became virtually a
religion during the German "Sturm und Drang".
There is an unusual objectivity in Lenz's hermit, even in his
"Schwärmerei", for Herz is quite conscious of the strange impression
he makes on the peasants. They eye him with curiosity and it is
apparent to him that they sense his homelessness - the fact that he
"belongs" nowhere. Although they make fun of his lack of under-
standing for their ways, Herz is neither insulted nor hurt; he admits
that their attitude is justified because of the manifestations in be-
haviour which are symptomatic of his condition and outlook upon
life. As a recluse inspired by an ideal love, who finds in nature a
spirit kindred in its purity, Herz considers himself indirectly com-
parable to Petrarch, who retired to a rocky spring near Vaucluse,
and there, too, dwelt in a seclusion devoted to his feeling for Laura.¹
At any rate, Herz considers his state of mind and his adopted way
of life to be in a long-standing tradition – such figures as he have al-
ways been the mark of curiosity and fun-poking.
Yet, Herz is much more averse to the mockery of his own class
of society, for while the simple peasants wonder more at his manner
and mode of life, members of his own social circle deride the ideal-
ized feeling for which he lives - (p. 111, bot. ff.) "Soll ich aber die
Wahl haben, so ist mir der Spott des ehrlichen Landmannes immer
noch Wohltat gegen das Auszischen leerer Stutzer und Stutzerinnen
in den Städten.
We have observed a thread of pseudo-objectivity in Herz, but it
does not affect either his evaluation of his way of life or his ideal-
ism. He is consistently able to find substantiation for his "Schwär-
merei", and, although he credits the arguments of his friend, Rothe,
he finds them quite inapplicable to himself (p. 117).
When he receives a penciled note from Rothe bearing only the
words, "Herz, du dauerst mich!", the hermit refers the sympathy
expressed by Rothe to his impoverished condition, rather than to
his state of fanatical idealism (p. 110). He immediately goes on to
describe his happiness in nature, but there is a melancholy strain in
it which is also a source of pleasure to Herz; it is inspired by the
withering shrubs of autumn and the green meadows which seem to
be struggling against coming frost and snow (p. 111). It is as if
nature reflected the purity and freshness of his emotion which would
not survive the blighting criticism and degrading traffic of sophis-
ticated society - p. 111) "Ich denke, es wird doch für mich auch ein
Herbst einmal kommen, wo diese innere Pein ein Ende nehmen
¹ It is, perhaps, an interesting coincidence that the landscape of Vaucluse
very closely resembles that which Herz describes - cf. Fredrik Wulff,
Petrarch at Vaucluse, Lund, 1904, p. 2 and plates, and Scheffel, Reisebilder,
Ein Tag am Quell von Vaucluse.
61


wird. Abzusterben für die Welt, die mich so wenig kannte, als ich sie
zu kennen wünschte -, oh, welche schwermütige Wollust liegt in
dem Gedanken?" He is convinced that a purely idealistic indivi-
dualist of his type can never be understood by a society which does
not recognize the validity of such emotion.
-
The strange objectivity to which we have already referred (and
which, in a sense, is immanent in the hero in so far as Herz embodies
any characteristics of Lenz, himself) comes to bear when Herz
thinks of a concept of Rousseau – namely, that one should not
demand that which does not lie within one's power to achieve; he
who does, remains forever a useless, weak half-man. The hermit,
Herz, sees in the concept an application to his own way of life and
the motives behind it. Yet, while the idea troubles him (p. 111 mid.),
it is clear that, as a recluse living in a world both real and ideal, he
prefers to be useless and weak, rather than to give up his way of
life and thus dull his senses to the ideal embodied in Stella (at whose
birth all forces of nature were set in motion and to whose perfection
heaven had combined all circumstances - p. 111).
The sublimity of the object of Herz's adoration is the prime justi-
fication, of course, for his chosen way of life, and it is important to
reemphasize that it is an ideal of perfection that he sees in Gräfin
Stella - not the woman, herself, outwardly. Following the moment
of doubt which we have just discussed and which Herz overcomes
almost in the same breath, the ecstatic recluse recalls in a panegyric
the charm and splendor which the supposed Stella radiated at a
masquerade. To be sure, Herz feels that an abyss lies between them
(p. 111), but this feeling is only partially due to the fact that Stella's
rank places her beyond his reach (cf. p. 132, mid.). Herz's attitude
is that of one who worships an unapproachable ideal. The pattern
of the dance had brought the assumed inspiration of his emotion to
a position directly before Herz's chair, yet he was unable even to
offer her a seat - (p. 112) "denn die Ehrfurcht hielt mich zurück, sie
anzureden".
We realize, of course, from the subsequent letter of Fräulein Scha-
touilleuse to Rothe (p. 112) and from that of Rothe to Herz (p. 113
ff.) that someone had tricked Herz into identifying another young
noblewoman as his beloved. The letter of Schatouilleuse reveals the
source of merriment which Herz's seemingly ridiculous dedication
to unreality, or illusion, provides for sophisticated society; that of
Rothe (and his subsequent one - p. 115) contrasts the light manner
of the "Weltmann" (satire on Goethe) in affairs of the heart with
Herz's single-minded and fanatical idealism - (p. 114) "Siehst Du, so
bin ich in einer beständigen Unruhe, die sich endlich in Ruhe und
Wollust auflöst und dann mit einer reizenden Untreue wechselt."
Rothe analyzes Herz quite properly from the point of view of his
62


sense of reality when he calls him one of those dangerous fools who,
as Shakespeare said, are incurable, because they are always able to
excuse their own idiocy (p. 113). Yet Rothe fails to understand
that what for him is illusion is supreme reality for Herz- it is
inconceivable to him that his hermit friend should be able to dis-
sociate the spiritual essence from the concrete individual. In spite
of the fact that he is made aware of his foolish mistake at the mas-
querade, Herz remains constant in his lofty devotion to Stella and
no coaxing or argument of Rothe can induce him to leave his her-
mitage; on the contrary Rothe's attitude only convinces him more
firmly that he is in the right (Honesta's description of Stella justifies
Herz's emotion, at least to some extent - p. 119).
Herz reveals in his answer to Rothe (p. 117 ff.) both his peculiar
objectivity and the justification for the sense of a higher reality
which is his alone and for which he has forsaken the brilliance of
sophisticated society to bury his undeniable talents in a hermitage –
(p. 117) "Sei glücklich unter Deinen leichten Geschöpfen und lass
mir meine Hirngespinste. – Ich lache nicht, aber ich bin glücklicher
als Ihr. Es ist wahr, dass ich alles hier begrabe, aber eben in dieser
Aufopferung findt mein Herz eine Grösse, die ihm wieder Luft
macht, wenn seine Leiden zu schwer werden." The sole demand
which Herz makes on life is freedom to love what he wishes with all
the strength and constancy of his particular character inclination -
this demand he finds fulfilled in his hermithood -
(p. 119)
"Du nicht glücklich, kümmernd Herz?
Was für Recht hast du zum Schmerz?
Ist's nicht Glück genug für dich,
Dass sie da ist, da für sich?"
The hand of Fate intervenes in the form of a freezing night which
forces Herz to leave his hut, and brings him among men (p. 121).
He sees his Stella in the flesh, and the intrigue over her portrait which
involves Widow Hohl, Rothe, and Plettenberg leads to Herz's
downfall. Although we do not possess the conclusion of the novel,
we may assume a tragic ending, for Herz, who is to accompany
Stella's fiance, Plettenberg, on a campaign to America, will learn of
her marriage to the old colonel after it has taken place (p. 138)
this plan had been conceived by Rothe primarily to cure Herz of
his illusion.
Herz embodies, as a hermit, a strange blending of fanatical ide-
alism and individualism. In contrast to Erwin, who wishes to find
peace and consolation in nature for an unhappy love, Herz finds
in nature a realm of purity and simplicity conducive to complete
devotion to an ideal love; hermithood is for him, as we have seen,
the sole way of life in which he can indulge and preserve his emotion.
63


Lenz's "Waldbruder" dwells in a reality which is valid for him
alone. As long as he is able to remain in solitude, and maintain the
dissociation of his spiritual love from Stella, herself, as an individual,
Herz enjoys peace of mind. When his destiny places him face to
face with her, however, and, through his desire to possess her pic-
ture, he becomes involved with the intriguing of those whose sense
of reality bears no relationship to his own, Herz and his ideal realm
of experience are doomed to be shattered.
The hermit figure in Lenz's Der Waldbruder, then, is the very type
of "romantic" or idealistic individualist whose dream world can
exist only quite apart from society and, indeed, in separation from
the object of his own emotion, the hermit's spiritual love possesses
the purity and eternal quality of nature, itself.
(3) In Klinger's Tragedy, Die Zwillinge, Grimaldi, too, lives only
for an ideal love, but the difference between the latter and Herz
is that between day and night. Grimaldi never appears as a hermit
and, although he expresses a desire to become one (p. 24), it may be
assumed that he would never gain strength enough to undertake
such a move. Grimaldi, like Herz, lives in devotion to an ideal love
and in a world of his own. His love and the realm in which he lives,
however, belong to the past, to death - they exist nowhere but in
his own obsession. He might well be designated a victim of acute
melancholia; as such, he acts as a foil to the unbelievably irrational
raging of his friend, Guelfo, for his melancholy, which has the pallor
of death, imbues the entire atmosphere of the drama with its op-
pressive, dark humidity - like that which pervades the air before a
terrible thunder-storm.
Grimaldi's vitality (we are asked to believe that he once had
strength and zest for life - p. 20) has been sapped by the death of
his beloved, Juliette - Guelfo's sister (p. 22) - "Sie starb! sie starb!
und da sie starb, starb Grimaldi! Alle Hoffnung und Leben ent-
quoll meinem Herzen mit den blutigen Thränen." Ferdinando is
made to bear the blame for Grimaldi's tragic experience in the past
(p. 31, top and p. 22, mid.), as he is for thwarting the love of Guelfo
for Kamilla during the action of the play. Grimaldi's rank was
considered unsuitable for union with the family (p. 22) and Ferdi-
nando had committed a grave wrong in belittling the melancholy
knight's love for Juliette and in pressing for her marriage to a
wealthy count (p. 31, top) - a marriage which was obviated by
Juliette's death of a broken heart.
Grimaldi's wish to become a hermit is directed also toward Guelfo
(p. 24), for, in his eyes, a fate similar to his own threatens his friend;
Guelfo must look on in self-torture while Ferdinando reaps the
blessing of a love which rightfully should be his - rightfully, because
Guelfo, and Grimaldi, himself, embody the capacity for deep, en-
64


-
nobling feeling and sensitivity lacking in Ferdinando and in the
society which has no insight into their sphere of experience. The
expression of the wish to enter into hermithood is traceable to
Grimaldi's conviction that the man of strong and idealistically emo-
tional nature, once crushed by adversity in the form of insensitive
society, can never recover himself; an inevitable tragic end awaits
him, for he will exist in a living death - (p. 21) "Aber Guelfo, wenn
das nun all niedergerissen ist, was uns damals trieb, wie den jungen
Adler, der seine Schwingen stark fühlt, den Weg zur Sonne zu
schweben wenn das nun nicht mehr aufzuwecken ist Lieber
Guelfo, ich schein mir dem geblendeten Adler zu gleichen, der sein
Leben in den Felsen austrauert." All sentiments of brighter nature,
all sympathetic feeling for the fate of others, or even for his own,
have been transformed in him to hatred and antipathy (p. 21, top).
The desire to depart from the world, then, is motivated by revulsion
toward a society which, guided by superficial standards of rank and
wealth, manipulates and destroys the will to live in the feeling
individual (p. 22) – "Ward ich nicht in Finsternis zurückgestossen
worin ich noch immer tappe?" The longing for isolation is based
equally upon a sense of frustration evoked by those (Ferdinando,
the old Guelfo) who cannot grasp the suffering of the individuals
whose lives they have ruined – (p. 30) "Versteht kein Mensch den
Leidenden?" Grimaldi represents, therefore, a spiritual secession
from life, a sort of "inner hermithood" which justifies our considera-
tion of him in this study.
Thus, Grimaldi inhabits the dark world of his dreams, idealistically
melancholy dreams of the past and of death. His hermithood would
be dedicated to the expectation of death and it would be lived out
in devotional sorrow - (p. 24) “Bruder, lass uns Einsiedler werden,
lass uns der Welt absagen, und uns treu sterben! - Wie kann ich's,
wie kannst du's ansehen? Eine härne Kutte wär des armen Grimal-
di's Sache." (Guelfo is addressed as "Bruder" and included in the
design of hermithood because he, alone, understands Grimaldi's love
and grief for his sister, and also because, as we have said, Grimaldi
foresees the tragic experience in store for his friend.)
Yet, ironically, the complete loss of strength and will to live, oc-
casioned by his experience, would prevent Grimaldi from ever carry-
ing out his wish to become a hermit. The fact that he exists in a
dream world of living death devoted to memory of his lost love
(p. 23 and p. 30, bot.) binds him most explicitly to the sombre en-
vironment of Guelfo's castle - (p. 23) “Bruder! Dir darf ich's sagen,
dass mir jede Nacht ihre blasse Totengestalt erscheint, dass ich sie
so kalt in meine Arme festdrücke, dass sie mir winkt, und dass sie
mich nach sich zieht." Even in his despair Grimaldi is rooted to the
65


scene of his past by his recurring ghostly rendezvous with the dead
beloved.
Hermithood in Lenz's Der Waldbruder and the expressed desire to
become a hermit in Klinger's Die Zwillinge represent in the instances
of both Herz and Grimaldi a longing, or inner need, of the individual
dwelling in an idealistic dream-reality of his own fabrication to re-
pulse a world which endangers it. Hermithood, in both cases, is an
attempt to preserve an individual reality from the infringement of a
society for which that reality is quite nonexistent. The rejection
of the world and the wish to do so reveal, of course, a defense mech-
anism against the suffering occasioned by the lack of sympathy and
understanding in circles where the basis of the individual's emotional
problems has no validity. (The realm of pathological melancholy
and death in which Grimaldi lives is similar, although the latter
does not become a hermit, to that of the hermit figure of Lenau's
Die Marionetten, who also dwells in macabre devotion to the dead
love of his gloomy past.)
(4) In Klinger's Die Zwillinge, Grimaldi wishes to become a
hermit because his life has been shattered by the death of his be-
loved; he exists, as we have seen, completely in the past, in com-
munion with the dead. Thus, his existence is utterly negative and
he is, himself, without life. In Brentano's "verwilderter Roman",
Godwi, the hermit, Werdo Senne, also dwells, to an extent, in the
past; he, too, has rejected the world out of sorrow over the death
of his beloved. Yet, Brentano's hermit finds consolation and in-
spiration in nature; his experience and his knowledge of the secrets
of life through nature have made him wise and benevolent - there is
little bitterness in his heart from the past - only a constant sorrow,
which, however, he alleviates by imparting his knowledge of life
to the young. Like Trevrizent, the hermit in Satyros, or even like
the deceased recluse in Goethe's Erwin und Elmire, he represents a
kind of ideal hermit - but one who embodies quite specific charac-
teristics of German Romanticism. Of course, these are all not
religious hermits in the churchly sense, but a sort of "lay" hermits.
They neither practice religious devotions nor atone vicariously for
the world's sins.
In regard to the form of the novel, H. A. Korff remarks, "- so
bildet der Roman überhaupt kein Ganzes, sondern nur ein will-
kürliches Konglomerat von allerlei romanhaften Stoffen, die nur
insofern eine Einheit bilden, als sie insgesamt erotische Stoffe sind."
Youthful work though it may be, Godwi possesses qualities which
make it more unified than a string of "Novellen" loosely connected
by a common eroticism, as Korff suggests (in an otherwise illuminat-
ing chapter on the novel). It is possible to disagree with such an
interpretation for various reasons; one of these is inherent in the
66


1
-
portrayal of the hermit, Werdo Senne, whose personality is a
dominant one in the first part of the novel and whose past runs
like a thread through the second part, with specific clarifying refer-
ences to the first - Korff does not mention Senne in his Godwi chapter.
We have already referred to the fact that a tragic love-experience
motivates Werdo's hermithood. The second part of the novel ex-
plains this motivation through Godwi's delineation of the relation-
ship between Joseph (Werdo Senne of part one) and Marie Wellner.
Their relationship was based upon a love which would have cul-
minated in marriage, had it not been disrupted by the force of outer
circumstances. Although their love was deep and of enduring
quality, it ran its course (until the death of Marie) within conven-
tional bourgeois confines. Such a love-experience is opposed to the
idealization of a free love, a boundless force of nature, which is set
forth in the novel. It is only after the death of Marie that Senne's
love for her assumes in hermithood the timeless depth of nature,
itself.
Marie is pictured as "ein durchaus sanftes und argloses Geschöpf
mit einem treuen warmen Herzen, und einem hellen Geiste, der
aber meistens in der Wahl das Gute dem Schönen vorzog" (II, Ch.
19, beginning) - there is a strain of the bourgeois in the conception
of her as compared with her sister, Annonciata ("ein kühneres und
doch harmonischeres Gemisch von Farben ist nicht leicht denkbar").
Joseph, engaged as tutor and business assistant to Wellner, falls
in love with the more conventional favorite daughter of the mer-
chant, who blesses their betrothal with a pair of golden rings (II, Ch.
19, end). The circumstances arising out of Joseph's commercial
voyage serve to break up the conventional relationship which ends
in stark tragedy. Because of storms at sea (II, ch. 29, end), Joseph's
return is delayed indefinitely, while Godwi (the elder) convinces the
despairing Marie of her beloved's demise by destroying his letters
and falsifying a death-certificate. Consequently, Marie is persuaded
by her ailing father to marry Godwi, to whom she bears a son (God-
wi, the younger) - thus the catastrophe, which Joseph's homecom-
ing occasions, and which motivates his hermithood, ripens.
Through separation from him, Marie's love deepens and becomes
endless longing. On one of her accustomed evening walks with her
child along the harbor, Marie hears the voice of Joseph from an
approaching ship, and sees him looking toward her through a tel-
escope.¹ Overcome, probably, by her sense of guilt and by the
longing which can never be fulfilled, she plunges with the infant
Godwi (later rescued) into the sea (II, ch. 27, end) - she breaks the
¹ cf. Herder, Stimmen der Völker in Liedern, Das Mädchen am Ufer, which
presents a similar scene, (including the "Kaufmannsgestalt"), one which
may have influenced Brentano, who was surely familiar with it.
67


confines of the conventional love of her past through her act, and
becomes "das steinerne Bild der Mutter". This statue of Marie
poised with the child in her arms becomes an eternal reminder of
his guilt to the elder Godwi, who had it placed outside the window
of his lonely dwelling (II, ch. 18, id.), and it represents, at the
same time, Joseph's last view of her – it is this sight and conception
of Marie which accompanies him into his retreat. By her act, Marie
embodies the death of constricting, bourgeois emotion, and becomes
for the hermit, Werdo Senne, the very symbol of an eternally per-
vading, depersonalized love, a force of nature
(1, p. 140)
-
"Wenn die Liebe aus den Sternen
Niederblicket auf die Erde,
Und dein Liebstes Lieb begehrte,
-
Muss dein Liebstes sich entfernen."
(This interpretation of Marie's transition from conventional love to
an embodiment of a boundless love inherent in nature is substan-
tiated by the comparison of the painting of Marie before her death
with the statue (II, ch. 20, end). Of the painting, the poet, Marie,
says, "Ich habe noch nirgends ein häusliches Gemählde im Ideal
gesehen, dies ist es, Friede." Of his mother's portraits in both paint-
ing and statue, Godwi replies, "Dies ist sie, ziehen Sie von diesem
Bilde bis zum steinernen Bilde eine Linie, so haben Sie das Unglück
meiner Mutter ermessen.")
After the death of Marie, Joseph suffered a transitory spell of
insanity (II, ch. 27 end). Following his recovery, however, the
knowledge of what had transpired during his absence produced in
him a terrible solemnity which induced him to enter into hermit-
hood - Godwi's reference to a second marriage of Joseph (II, 30) and
the death of the second wife as an additional cause of his hermithood
may well be attributed to an attempt to lift a measure of guilt from
his father's memory.
""
From Ottilie's letter to Joduno (I, p. 48 ff.) we learn that Werdo
lives plunged in sorrow and in longing for death which shall reunite
him with Marie as well as with the second wife (cf. above) – “Ich
werde bald deine Mutter, mein treues, edles Weib, wieder sehen,
ich werde auch Jene wieder sehen, die mein Wiedersehn tödtete.'
Werdo finds happiness in this longing and conviction, for, as he
says, without it he would scarcely be capable of even the wish to die.
His sorrow and longing for death find expression and consolation
in the songs which he sings to the accompaniment of his harp
(Werdo is an echo of Goethe's "Harfner" in Wilhelm Meister, as are
also many of the other characters and themes in the work). The
relationship of the romantic conception of moonlight and night to
the death-longing is revealed as the soft rays of the moon fill the
68


chamber with their mild light, and inspire Werdo to take his harp –
(I. p. 50) "Es war mir, als habe er sein Lied an dem Monde ange-
zündet, es war so rein, so hell, und doch so mild, was er sang" - thus,
here, the conception of night and death-longing are synthesized in
Werdo's music, embodied in art. The tragic experience of his past
assumes a uniquely positive aspect in Senne's hermithood, for it is
transformed into his gift of song.
Werdo Senne dwells in a hermitage which he has constructed in
the ruins of an ancient castle, Reinhardstein (I, p. 79 ft.). Here,
he secludes himself with his daughter, Ottilie, and the foundling boy,
Eusebio (a male echo of Mignon) who had been committed to his
care by Lady Hodefield. He had hidden himself among these ruins,
he informs Godwi, that men might not hear his laments and that he
might not hear their lies (I, p. 79). In his care, the two children,
Ottilie and Eusebio, have bloomed like flowers, in intimacy with
nature and with an inexpressible, instinctive understanding of its
pervading force; they, too, have acquired Werdo's gift of song -
even their inspiration is identical with that of their father - (I, p.
137) "Leise, wie ein Lied des Danks, zündete sich Eusebio's Stimme
am Mond an" - (cf. previous quotation).
Godwi is at once aware of the melancholy peace in which Senne
lives; the suffering, which has been transformed into a deep under-
standing of nature and a longing to be united with it, lends the her-
mit an aspect of solitary greatness in the eyes of the young visitor
(I, p. 80); he does not speak readily with strangers and there is in his
bearing, alone, a power which silences the lips of others. About him
is an aura of serene peace, not unlike that which a feeling man ex-
periences in the stillness of the evening after a full and tiring day.
Werdo Sonne's principal source of consolation is his harp; he is
accustomed to sitting for hours beneath a lonely oak where he lifts
his voice in songs of enchanting power - a power derived from the
longing ("Sehnsucht") inherent in them for something that he
alone knows (I, p. 81). To Godwi it seems that in Werdo's songs lies
the key to his suffering, for the hermit rests his forehead upon the
harp as if it were the arm of a comforting friend (I, p. 83).
When the hermit becomes convinced that his young visitor, Godwi,
possesses an instinctive sympathy for his sorrow, he explains that
his solitary life is characterized by deep unity with all that lives
about him (I, p. 140). Again he raises his voice in song and, although
the theme of Marie's death is its ouverture, the poem reveals in its
development the joy and peace of eternal unity in nature and God
which is the fruit of his tragic experience -
(1. p. 142)
"Ich sinke ewig unter
Und steige ewig auf,
69


Und blühe stets gesunder
Aus Liebes-Schoos herauf.
Das Leben nie verschwindet,
Mit Liebesflamm und Licht
Hat Gott sich selbst entzündet
In der Natur Gedicht."
In harmony with nature, the hermit dwells in the realm of eternal
love and longing; only nature is able to offer him comfort in his
suffering and it has taught him its language, song (I, p. 143 – "und
lebe wie Natur, in freien und ungebundenen Tönen"). The aspect
of the eternal revealed to the hermit in nature is a quality felt, or
lived ("erlebt", perhaps, "geahnt"); it is the very antithesis of
knowledge (I, p. 144) "denn alles Wissen ist der Tod der Schön-
heit, die in uns wohnet".
-
Thus, the hermit, Werdo Senne, also performs an educational
function (as do the solitaries in Heinrich von Ofterdingen, Eine Meer-
fahrt, and Oberon - chapter IV of this study), for his experience has
formative influence not only upon the lives of Ottilie and Eusebio,
but upon Godwi, who absorbs the hermit's conception of nature as
eternal love and longing, as the only ultimate way of life –
(1, p. 146) "Es stürzen bald des alten Glaubens Götzen
Zieht die Natur mich so mit Liebe an.
O süsser Tod, in Liebe neu geboren,
Bin ich der Welt, doch sie mir nicht verloren."
As an eventual result of Senne's teaching, Godwi, himself, retires
to the solitude of his "Eremitage" in the second part of the novel.
Although Senne starts in horror when Godwi, overcome with en-
thusiasm, addressess him as "Vater!" (I, p. 146), his behaviour is
due to shock, rather than to any lasting bitterness from the past.
The arrival of Godwi, (the son he might have had) revives in the
hermit the initial pain of Marie's death and betrayal, which he had
transcended in hermithood (I, p. 144). The nobility of character
inherent in Senne's suppression of such bitterness is revealed in his
first letter to Lady Hodefield - (I, p. 78) "Der ist kein edler Mensch,
der sich nicht freut der Liebe im Arme seines Nebenbuhlers, und der
ist ein niedriger Mensch, der sich nicht freut des Werths der Kinder,
deren Vater er hätte seyn können.” The same nobility and lack of
bitterness is evident in Senne's reconciliation with the elder Godwi,
the perpetrator of his greatest misfortune (II, ch. 31, p. 457).
In Werdo Senne's hermithood there runs also the theme of the
relationship between art and madness. Godwi feels that "Wahn-
sinn" wages a continuous struggle for control of the hermit's spirit
(I, p. 147) Madness is the unfortunate brother of Poetry, and is
-
70


often thrust aside in life. The stark realities in the world, however,
hinder the flight of Poetry, while Madness, in his frequent victories
over the adversities in life, bears his prize aloft to the very gods.
The hermit, Senne, as we have seen, possesses an instinctive under-
standing for the eternal power of nature, and, in hermithood, his
own longing has become harmonized with it. This universally
instinctive understanding of a profounder sense of life in nature, this
phantasy ("Wahnsinn"), creates its own reality the fertile soil
which gives birth to the purest song. (This conception of the re-
lationship between "Wahnsinn" and art is clearly allied to Hoff-
mann's "serapiontisches Prinzip" and similar to a theme in Wacken-
roder's Der nackte Heilige).
--
As a hermit, Werdo Senne embodies a supreme wisdom and kindly
benevolence, the fruits of a tragic experience transformed through
profound insight into nature; the longing for reunion with the dead
betrothed was translated in him into a longing for union with
nature, the element of eternal love (and, in this universal respect, all
longing is for Werdo Senne "Todessehnsucht”).
We have also seen that the natural expression of this longing is
song, the language of nature, itself. Senne performs an educational
function through the transmission of his "Weltanschauung" to
Godwi and through his influence upon Eusebio and Ottilie, who re-
present for Godwi the hermit's insight into life become flesh.
Werdo's concept of the world of nature as the realm of universal,
eternal love and longing lends depth and perspective to the crit-
icism of the novel as a whole.
—
Werdo Senne's hermithood, therefore, is a positive way of life, for
it is a triumph over the tragedy and bitterness of his past, an entry
into a richer, eternal aspect of life and art. The aged man charac-
terizes his life as a hermit most aptly in the conclusion of his letter
to Lady Hodefield (I, p. 78) "Sonderbar ist das Gewebe meines
Lebens gewesen, ein Geheimnis liegt über ihm, keine Staaten-
verhältnisse, keine sogenannten Wichtigkeiten, Menschenliebe und
Duldung haben ihm das Siegel eiserner Verschwiegenheit aufge-
drückt. Und das alles wird sich um uns drehen, diese Freuden-
sphäre wird auf meinem Grabe stehen wie der Fuss des Regen-
bogens, unter dem in meinem Vaterlande ein freundlicher Aber-
glaube Schätze wähnt."
(5) The hermithood of Werdo Senne represented a triumph over
the tragedy and suffering of his past; in isolation, that pain was
transformed into a deep understanding of life through nature, which
found its expression in song - all "Todessehnsucht" became a desire
for union with eternal nature (as, also, in Kerner, Die Heimatlosen,
Novalis', Ofterdingen, and Hölderlin's Hyperion). In this longing
and in the expression of it, the hermit found a sort of peace. In the
71


case of Walter, the hermit-hero of Annette von Droste-Hülshoff's
youthful "Epos", quite the reverse is true. It is, like her mature
poem, Das Vermächtnis des Arztes, to an extent, an "allegory of man
as such, doomed to guilt and suffering beyond his comprehension or
desert" (Walter Silz - Problems of "Weltanschauung" in the Works of
Annette von Droste-Hülshoff, P.M.L.A., 1949, p. 681). In Walter,
too, the force of evil overpowers the individual and, although the
hero seeks peace and consolation in solitude, the tragedy of his love
experience continually tortures him, and makes of his hermithood
an agonizing purgatory (cf. previous reference - p. 693).
The poetess suggests the eventual subjection of her hero to the
dark forces of fate through her delineation of his family background.
The birth of Theatilde occasions the death of her own mother, which,
in turn, breaks her father's heart (Werke, Bd. 4, p. 140). His des-
pairing end casts its shadow over the wedding of Theatilde to Al-
hard (p. 148) and the union of the tender, angelic girl with the fierce
robber-knight symbolizes, in itself, the hopeless plight of innocence
in conflict with overwhelmingly sinister forces in life
(p. 149)
"Hat je dem Weih' die Taube wohlgewollt?
Ist wohl der Hinde in des Löwen Höhle?"
Theatilde wilts like an uprooted flower, while Walter, the fruit of
this unequal alliance, is destined from birth, as it were, to suffer the
painful experience of life's duality, from which even hermithood
brings no release.
The "Epos" has the form of a "Rahmenerzählung," and the first
canto introduces the hermit, Walter, who inhabits a rocky cave in
the depths of a pine forest. The succeeding cantos disclose Walter's
family background (to which we have already referred) and his own
life prior to hermithood, while the sixth and final canto describes his
departure from the world, and reverts to the opening scene.
-
a
The dim light of the moon through the dark pines reveals in the
cell of the recluse the meaningful objects which surround him
skull, symbol of death and of the transitory quality of all things, a
crucifix, a suit of armor on the wall (cf. Ofterdingen), which is a
dumb reminder of its owner's former life, and the empty bed of fo-
liage. The hermit's restlessness, his lack of inner peace, are apparent
from his nocturnal wandering, and, when he appears out of the
darkness, shrouded in nightly mist, it is as if he were emerging
cloaked in his own melancholy past (p. 134). The pallor of his face
and his wavering steps disclose also the mental anguish which char-
acterizes Walter's lonely existence; though still young, his beauty
has withered, and the traces of suffering in his features indicate that
he has been unable to conquer the pain which has accompanied him
to his lonely retreat (p. 135). The armor which he had worn as a
72


knight reminds him of former joyous days, but his weakened arm is
unable to support its weight and it clatters to the floor of the cave -
a symbol of the blight which had come over his exuberant youth.
His eyes avoid the silent witness of knighthood, but even in prayer
Walter cannot find the peace of God, for natural memories insist
upon their rights, and pierce the calm of his devotion - as long as
man is bound to earthly life, he cannot avail himself of divine con-
solation -
(p. 137)
"Wer deine Lust begehrt, du Herrscher gross,
-
""
Den darf kein sinnlich Freudenbild mehr rühren
The thought of his dead beloved recurrently interposes itself be-
tween his struggling spirit and the peace it seeks - Walter clutches
her pictured image to his heart, not that of the Virgin and Child, and
bursts into tears of anguish and frustration. The young hermit's
effort to attain spiritual calm is doomed to heart-rending failure –
(p. 138) "O Jüngling, einer heillos finstern Macht
Ist dein zerstörtes Leben hingegeben -.'
The dark power which is meant here, however, is not specifically
that which, in Walter, ties him to memories of earthly joy and
tragedy, but rather some obscure, cosmic power of destiny which
renders the individual a helpless sufferer in circumstances with
which he cannot cope.
In the dream which impels Walter to seek out Alba's dwelling
place on the following morning, there is a slight forboding of tragedy
to come, as well as a suggestion of the sinister power which motivates
it. Walter is embraced in his sleep, at first, by an angel and then –
(p. 157) "Da sind die süssen Züge all verrückt,
Ein fremdes Antlitz lächelt auf den Armen."
The vision disappears and the entire choir of angels assumes the
features of the beloved Alba - thus this dark cosmic force injects
itself into the destiny of the individual. With graying dawn, Walter
sets out to find the angelic maiden, whose love and tragic death
shall be his constant memories in isolation.
The figure of Balduin, Alba's hermit father, represents an anti-
thesis to the eventual hermithood of Walter, for the aged recluse has
been able to purge from his mind all thoughts and influences of
wordly life. He dwells with his daughter in a tiny hut secluded in a
forest glade remote from the world; the hut is situated on a brook,
and is idyllically surrounded by grape-vines and jasmine blossoms
(p. 158) - the atmosphere breathes the very essence of peace and in-
nocence. Balduin, a former resident of the imperial capital, had in-
herited vast wealth from his family, yet his disposition was inclined
73


-
toward loftier riches of the spirit – (p. 160) “Ich hatte höhern Fahnen
zugeschworen." He had felt the splendor of the world to be a burden
weighing down his spirit, which, even then, longed for solitude and
harmony with God -
-
(p. 160) "O Kreis der Alten, Flamme in der Nacht,
Du reine in sich selbst entglühte Leuchte!
Du warst es, deren stolzer Geistespracht
Sich demutsvoll mein schwaches Sinnen neigte."
Balduin feels gratitude for the God-given strength which enabled
him to bear up under the weight of vain "Erdenglück." The luxury
in which he had been obliged to live drew swarms of unwelcome
guests about him and he resented the intrusion upon his privacy
and the disturbance to his natural desire for spiritual peace and
meditation (p. 160). Since his wealth was a curse and impediment
to his peace of mind, it was with a sense of relief that he looked upon
the charred ruins of his palace, which was gutted by a night fire
through the intervention of some happy fate – releasing him forever
from the confines of wordly vanity. This loss sufficed to let plans
of long standing come to fulfillment. Three lines sum up Balduin's
ideal of existence ·
(p. 161) "Nicht reich, doch sorglos, herrschend nicht, doch frei,
Nur der Natur und ihrem Zepter treu,
Am klaren Born der Alten mich zu letzen."
(The "Alten," to whom Balduin refers in this and the previous quo-
tation, are, perhaps, the early Christian hermits who gave up all
earthly goods to serve God through isolated devotion - this hermit
is motivated by a desire similar, in many respects, to that of Lessing's
"Klosterbruder.")
Hermithood is, therefore, the fulfillment of Balduin's most fervent
wishes
(p. 161)
"Erfüllt sind meine Wünsche; seh' ich nicht
Ein kleines Eden rings um mich erblühen?
Und drinnen glänzt, ein holdes Liebeslicht,
Mein einzig Kind in frischer Jugend Glühen."
He and Alba live in an "Eden" of original love and innocence in na-
ture; the aged recluse spends his hours in cultivating his daughter's
spirit in accordance with his ideal of life (like Werdo and Ottilie).
Thus, Alba, as the product of her father's way of life, becomes the
embodiment of natural innocence and love - a moving symbol of the
original state of man. Through her (and through the mingled char-
acteristics of his inheritance, as we have seen), this ideal takes firm
roots in Walter's heart, but it is doomed to be crushed by the fatal
74


forces which subject it to conflict with the incompatible influences
of the outer (here, knightly,) world.
The ideals of knightly glory push their way into Walter's life,
decisively and openly in conflict with the new-found love for the
angelic Alba. He is to add his fame to that of his fathers by taking
part in the crusade (p. 164), and is to receive as reward, upon his
return, the hand of Cäcilia (p. 16), daughter of the old knight, Ebbo
- she is the essence of courtly coquetry (p. 167) and of insidious pride
and jealousy. The incipient conflict of incompatible forces in Wal-
ter's soul is indicated by the mixed emotions of his reaction to this
news
-
(p. 165) "Wie auf der Freude Glut im Antlitz ging,
Ihn dann als lichte Flamme hell umfing -
Und nun in blassen Leichenduft verschwommen."
When Walter takes leave of Balduin and Alba (p. 171), the young
knight makes show of his zeal to serve God; this holy service in the
crusade must come before friendship. The old hermit, however, rec-
ognizes his embarrassed pretentiousness, and, perceiving the armlet
given to Walter by the false Cäcilia, lays his finger upon the em-
broidered figure of Amor -
(p. 171) "Glaubt mir's, dies ist der Eu'ren Fahnenzeichen!"- Bal-
duin clearly sees the duality which holds sway in the young man's
soul, and this incident is a portent of the fearful psychic struggle
which marks Walter's hermithood. The knight departs, his heart di-
vided between desire for knightly glory (worldly vanity) and thoughts
of Alba - but it is the green ivy sprig, the innocent maiden's pledge
and a symbol of natural purity, which acts as a talisman to guaran-
tee Walter's safe return (p. 172), and not the artificial favor of Cäci-
lia (a symbol of superficiality and faithlessness - p. 170).
-
The death of Balduin, of which the young knight learns upon his
return (p. 176), followed a spell of madness - brought on, no doubt,
by the realization that his daughter's attachment to Walter dooms
her to a hopeless lot. His dying words envision the tragic end of
innocence and purity when it becomes exposed to the sinister forces
of the world –
-
(p. 177) "Mein Kind, wie hilflos lass ich dich zurück!
Du arm, für diese Welt verdorbnes Leben!"
In Balduin, the hermit figure is interpreted as possessing a deep in-
sight into life because of his intimate rapport with the natural and
divine elements - thus, he is more sensitive to forces antipathetic to
his way of life, such as those to which Walter is subject and which
he had been able to observe in the young knight on the occasion of
his departure for the crusade.
75


The anxiety of the dying hermit concerning the fate of his daugh-
ter proves to be visionary, for the hellish, destructive forces about
Walter, embodied in his father, Alhard, and in his jealous betrothed,
Cäcilia, combine on the misty night of Alba's rendezvous with her
beloved to snuff out her life (p. 181-183) - "hellish" is the proper
word, for Alhard's followers seem to serve "dem Höllenreiche" (p.
181) and "die grause Höllenlache" of Cäcilia (p. 183) is the last sound
to fall upon the fainting Walter's ear after the deed.
Following his father's burial and the repayment of those robbed
and oppressed by Alhard, Walter seeks out Verenus, the hermit-
monk, whose peace in God had impressed and consoled him at the
death-bed (p. 186). While he awaits the arrival of Verenus, the
crucifix in the quiet cell seems to instill a divinely inspired tran-
quillity into his heart; the young man resolves to reject the empty
world, for he has no further demands on life -
(p. 191) "In stiller Klause schweigt des Busens Toben-." Yet,
Verenus' insight into Walter's problem reveals his practical wisdom
- hermithood is not for the young, before whom the furure is only
beginning to unfold -
(p. 192) "Schlagt nicht in Fesseln dieses heisse Herz,
Sonst, fürcht' ich, weint Ihr einst mit herbem Schmerz
Der Welt zu lieblich lockende Gestade."
As we observed at the start of our discussion, solitude brings no
peace to the young hermit, for he brings with him into his retreat
the "Dämon" which motivated the tragic conflict of forces in his
past and which now, in Walter's case, remains to stir ceaselessly the
torment of these forces in his soul. At the outset of the poem, the
poetess tells us that Walter's life is subject to an unholy dark power
(p. 138); the conclusion restates the fact that the world and mem-
ory of the beloved do not, of themselves, withhold spiritual calm
(p. 194) -
"Es ist ein furchtbar Etwas, das sich müht,
Sich zwischen ihn und seinen Gott zu stellen -."
It is, rather, a force which motivates the dualism in life; this same
fateful power stirs up tormenting recollections of the tragic events
which grew out of it. Walter, as a hermit, is the sum of all the con-
flicts in his past over which he had no control, but which have
crushed him - denying to him for the length of his earthly days the
calm of spirit in God which he so feverishly desires.
The hermit theme plays a role on three levels in Annette's poem,
as we have seen. Balduin is the hermit by natural inclination. He
holds the world's goods and vanities in contempt, and longs only to
devote himself to God and to a life in nature - peace in God is for
76


him (as for Lessing's "Klosterbruder") an impossibility in the world
of men. It is interesting to note that Annette (like Lessing) turns,
as did her romantic prececessors also, to the world of the middle
ages for the setting of her narrative poem; earthly life was consid-
ered in those times (at least in religious circles) to be specifically a
preparation for eternity. As a hermit, Balduin lives in an "Eden"
of his own making, and rears his daughter, Alba, in the purity and in-
nocence of nature. His hermithood proves to be no solution in one
sense, however, for innocence and purity are doomed to suffering
through contact with the forces of the outer world. These he recog-
nizes in Walter, and dies despairing of his daughter's future.
Verenus embodies wisdom commensurate with his age and ex-
perience (although we learn nothing specific of his background); he
knows that hermithood can be of no avail as a solution for youth
(as do Novalis's Hohenzollern and Eichendorff's Don Diego) upon
whom the shackles of earthly life still hang. His warning to Walter
proves to be precisely valid. It is possible that Verenus' way of life
has brought him the peace of God, for he belongs to the clerus, and is
a venerable man, whose ties are stronger to death than to life – his
understanding of Alhard's dying gestures (p. 187) might also suggest
this.
To Walter, as we have seen, isolation can bring no peace. In him,
hermithood illustrates the extent to which the individual can be tor-
tured and crushed by forces beyond his control and understanding.
(6) In Lenau's Die Marionetten, the hermit also dwells in solitude
devoted to grief over a tragic bygone love and his only source of
consolation lies in the recounting of its gruesome history. Unfor-
tunately the poem was conceived during a period in which Lenau
was undergoing a crisis in his creative process (cf. Errante, Lenau,
p. 155 ff. -) and his "Nachtstück" (inspired by those of Hoffmann,
and composed in the terza rima of Chamisso) is a frequently me-
chanically constructed horror tale which does not lend the hermit
characters (Marie's father is also a sort of recluse) much depth.
The poet uses the effects of nature to provide atmosphere for his
verse-tale and to suggest the spiritual plight of his hermit-narrator.
The dark and rocky environment of the hermitage and the sense of
foreboding in the air are descriptive of the state in which the hermit
lives and of the gruesome recollections of the past which oppress
him – the nature of the hermitage distinguishes the character of the
hermit (as, also, in the instances of Walter, Balduin, and Werdo
Senne). The tuft of lamb's wool clinging to a briar, the bloodstain
underfoot, and the vulture lazily veering off to his lonely nest (Le-
nau, Sämtliche Werke, Bd. I - 1. 1320 ff.) indicate the stark tragedy
which had befallen not only the hermit, but Count Robert and his
daughter, the innocent Maria. The threatening darkness of the
77


gorge through which the wanderer descends to the abode of the
recluse (1. 1339) "Die dunkle Wiege der Melancholei" - and the
roar of thunder and flashes of lightning along the rocky cliffs inti-
mate the morbid dedication to death and sorrow which characterize
the hermit, who (like Grimaldi and, in a sense, like Walter) inhabits
the nether regions of an ever-present past - (1.1345) "Wo murmelnd
Nacht und Tod sich Treue schwören." The unusual pallor of the
hermit's face and the strange light which hovers about him (1. 1353
ff.) in the storm make an impression upon the approaching wan-
derer, which would suggest the state of pathological suffering gnaw-
ing at the soul of the recluse.
Lenau's setting, like that of Annette, is medieval, and his hermit,
like Walter, is a former knight whose grievous memories are kept
fresh by the portrait of the beloved adorning his cave (1. 1377 ff.) –
“Drauf wies er hin und sprach: Ich denke dein!
Und plötzlich stürzten Tränen ihm hervor.
(1. 1379 ff.)
Auf seinen Zügen lag ein tiefes Leid,
Wie er im teuren Bilde sich verlor."
In youth he had followed Count Robert through battle (1. 1443 ff.)
and, upon returning from these glorious feasts of arms with the old
nobleman, he fell deeply in love with the latter's daughter, the beau-
teous Maria, who did not requite his feeling - indeed she was
scarcely aware of it (1. 1462 ff.). The young knight, however, sup-
pressed his desire even then, and resigned himself to the bitter pleas-
ure of unfulfilled passion (1. 1461). This attitude discloses the
strain of resignation inherent in the youth of the hermit which is
transformed in him after Maria's death into the doubtful consolation
found in his retelling of the story and in the implied self-torture
which characterizes his isolation.
Count Robert, himself, embodies in his hermithood several motifs
which we have observed in other figures. He is, of course, an old
knight, saddened by the deaths of those close to him (1. 1407), who
withdraws from the world with his daughter (like Werdo Senne and
Balduin). She is the sole comfort of his declining years. Like Senne,
he makes his abode in the ruins of an ancient castle - here, the de-
cayed seat of his ancestors (1. 1425 ff.). The theme of the weary
warrior whose span of life is almost empty, and, therefore, has the
right to peaceful seclusion in preparation for death –
((1. 1414)
-
"Geschieden von der Welt bewegten Scharen
Hat sich sein Herz, das nur den Frieden sucht,
Des Glückes letzte Spur sich zu bewahren -"
is strikingly similar to those in Oberon, Ofterdingen, and Meerfahrt.
In a sense, too, like Annette's hermit, Balduin, Count Robert's
78


-
-
tranquil solitude and with it his life is destroyed by the fate of
his daughter. Maria represents purity and natural innocence pro-
tected by isolation from sullying influences of the world, as did
Alba - although these motifs are not nearly so extensively developed
in Lenau's poem - (1. 1422 ff.)
"An Schönheit wunderbar, an tiefer Güte,
War selige Genüg ihr stilles Leben,
Dass sie den Abend ihres Vaters hüte."
The robbery of Maria's peace and innocence by the byronic wan-
derer (1. 1485-1496), Lorenzo (cf. also Werke, Bd. X, p. 297), and her
death of a broken heart plunge the aged hermit-Count into the
madness which culminates in a gruesome revenge upon both Lorenzo
and his son Antonio - noteworthy is the association of "Wahnsinn"
with the heartbroken hermit - (1. 1573 - "Die Nacht des Wahnsinns
schlug sich um sein Haupt") as, also, in the case of Werdo and Bal-
duin (all three are hermit-father types).
We learn (1. 1556 ff.) from the hermit-narrator, that he had fled
again into battle to avoid witnessing Lorenzo's seduction of Maria;
yet his heart is consumed by jealousy and pain at a distance. Al-
though he tells us that he had received the news of Maria's betrayal
and death, we do not learn of the specific circumstances of his with-
drawal, for he makes an immediate transition to Count Robert's
madness and vengeful search for Lorenzo. It may be surmised that
madness had come over him, too, and, as we know, he retired to a
cave in the dark gorge overlooking the castle ruins and site of the en-
tire tragic and gruesome history. Lenau's hermit does not seclude
himself out of any desire to seek peace, but rather to indulge his
obsession for reliving the past to finish his story on the scene in
which it took place, he leads the wanderer before the ruins of Count
Robert's castle.
-
The sole motivation for life in Lenau's hermit is his desire, as we
have said, to reexperience the past which has broken his life; this
is evident, too, in his drive to tell his story, to bring it to life for the
wanderer (the "Vermittler" of a horror tale in a manner similar to
that of the monk in Grillparzer's Das Kloster bei Sendomir). Once he
has concluded it, he has no further interest in the listener, but leaves
him swooning from horror. Before dawn, he has disappeared, with
the obsession for which he lives, into the bleak, dark mountain gorge.
In Lenau's poem, as in Annette's, the principal hermit figure re-
presents the individual broken by the sinister forces of fate, but
there is, after all, more of Grimaldi in the nature of Lenau's recluse,
who does not seek calm of spirit (like Walter). The hermit-narrator
of Die Marionetten is an utterly pathological figure clinging in her-
mithood to the scene and motifs of a gruesome past – he finds his
-
79


only release in the indulgence of this obsession and in retelling its
history.
We have observed the frequent theme of madness in connection
with hermits in this part of the study – in Balduin, whose fate as a
hermit-father was comparable to Count Robert's, in Werdo-Senne,
another hermit-father (the conception of madness and art was a
theme in his hermithood) as well as in Lenau's hermit-narrator. We
may add that, in a remote sense, there is in the hermit-narrator of
Die Marionetten a suggested tie between the effectiveness of story-
telling and the madness of the hermit. The ability to recreate so
intensely the horror of his past for the listener is in direct proportion
to the degree of obsession which forces the hermit to relive it
whether coincidental or not, this conception of madness is certainly
reminiscent of that in Hoffman's Serapion.
-
B. This brief subdivision in the second part of our study concerns
itself with three hermit figures characterized specifically by their
madness.
(1) In Klinger's novel, Fausts Leben, Thaten und Höllenfahrt, the
devil, Leviathan, commits himself in the pact with Faust to dis-
closing the hypocrisy, superficiality, and perverse nature of man
170 ff.). The hermit is singled out as the apotheosis of virtue,
simplicity, and devotion to God; through his destruction, the devil
wishes to demonstrate to Faust the sham which underlies all ap-
parent reverence and faith among men; there is no virtue so con-
stant that it will not ultimately succumb to temptation.
The attack upon the hermit's morality is a revolting parallel to the
temptation of St. Anthony; the hermit succumbs to the temptation
to which he is, perhaps, most vulnerable because of his isolation. He
succumbs, however, to the temptation only after he has been driven
literally mad through Leviathan's conjuration of a seductress in the
guise of a female pilgrim - in reality, a hellish apparition. Even
though the devil's design to transform the holy man into a crazed
murderer succeeds, the disgusted reader is rather more likely to
share the view of the peasants who revere the hermit's bones }(p.
189) that the recluse is actually a martyr, not a poseur (like Les-
sing's hermit in Chapter II of this study). Although it is clearly not
Klinger's intention, the violent and luridly described temptation of
the hermit is likely to arouse the reader's sympathy for him.
-
The hermit whom Leviathan subjects to his experiment appears to
Faust (p. 184) to be the very ideal of a recluse; in his heart there
is the peace which is evident in the composure of his features and
Faust is led to believe that the hermit's hope and faith make him a
far more enviable man than he who made the pact with the devil. In
his hospitality to the two strangers, the hermit obeys the tradition
80


associated with his way of life; he is happy to minister to all who
may come to him and his lonely life is not spent in completely use-
less inactivity (p. 184) - "Derjenige, der dem Himmel lebt, darf der
gefährlichen Ruhe nicht pflegen." The mildness of his temperament
does not permit him to grow angry at Leviathan's taunts; he reveals
his humility when the devil accuses him of weakness, of fear of
temptation (p. 186) - to the challenge that struggle and temptation
are the triumphs of sainthood, the hermit humbly replies, "Der Herr
hat recht; aber nicht alle sind Heilige." The hermit, therefore, is
precisely what he appears to be a man who has fled the world be-
cause of its temptations) (like Simplicissimus) to devote himself to
God and to save his soul (p. 187) "Es ist eine sündige Welt, in der
wir leben, und weh' ihr, wenn tausende nicht in die Einsamkeit
eilten, ihr Leben dem Gebet weihten, um die Rache des erzürnten
Himmels von dem Haupt der Sünder abzuwenden."
-
-
It is, in a sense, through the charity of his office that the seduc-
tress is able to reach the godly man; she seems to seek refuge with
him from the advances of Leviathan. Thus, his senses already in-
flamed, the hermit falls prey to the temptress (p. 188), who so shat-
ters his entire being that he becomes a madman prepared to mur-
der the two guests to whom he had offered his hospitality.
Crushed by realization of his entanglement with the hellish powers,
the hermit faints, and perishes in the flames which release him from
his ghastly plight. Faust's accurate suspicion of the devil's intent
prior to the hermit's horrible psychic struggle actually interprets
most exactly what transpires (p. 185) - "und du wirst die Sinne
dieses Gerechten so verwirren, dass er Thaten unternimmt, die
seinem Herzen fremd sind."
It is difficult to say much more of Klinger's hermit than that he is
traditional in conception (a clerical figure, however) – a refugee from
the evils of the reformation world, who wishes to save his soul by
devoting his life entirely to God. Yet, because of his isolation and
asceticism, he is vulnerable to evil forces - extreme asceticism and
godliness are transformed by temptation to mad voluptuosity. The
figure of the hermit represents the ultimate virtue and reverence in
his ascetic isolation from the world of sinful men; he is, therefore,
made the goal of an attack which designs to prove that all human
faith and devotion is without constancy or substance. Hermithood,
then, provides no absolute peace in God, for even in isolation the
hermit (as in Walter) is sought out and martyred by forces of evil in
the world. Such an interpretation, to be sure, runs counter to
Klinger's actual intent. The author wishes to convey the fact (as
did Lessing) that there are some blackguards even among hermits -
madness here consists of sexual desire rampant, overriding every
scruple.
81


The same attitude of contempt prevails, though more concisely
and violently expressed, toward the Sicilian hermit, Martarillo,
whom the great King Louis of Sicily visits (p. 252 ff.). The mighty
monarch reveres the hermit as a holy man, begging him to grant
long life and health - the hermit is described as (p. 253) a fool who
has lived on the peak of a cliff from his fourteenth to his fortieth
year, torturing his body by fasting and denying his spirit all nour-
ishment ("aber der Schein des Heiligen bedeckte den Dummkopf
und er sah bald die Fürsten wie den Pöbel zu seinen Füssen"). It is,
for Faust, a supreme irony in life that such a creature commands the
respect even of rulers, and thus, perhaps, exerts in his madness a de-
cisive influence upon the world.
(2) In Wackenroder's Ein wunderbares morgenländisches Märchen
von einem nackten Heiligen, the relationship of art (here, music) to
madness as a theme connected with the hermit is developed in a
manner basically different from the conception in Werdo Senne
(Wackenroder's tale pre-dates Brentano's Godwi); here, the treat-
ment is, to an extent, allegorical - a treatment more compatible,
also, with the "Märchen" technique.
For Wackenroder (as for many other successive Romantics) the
Orient is the land of mystery and profoundly irrational truths. His
hermit figure is one of the original Dervishes inhabiting the eastern
wastes. A kind of sacred madness is associated with these solitaries,
which sets them apart from other men; they are considered to be of
essentially supernatural nature, and, as such, are objects of worship
(while in philistine Europe they would be considered merely insane).
The hermit of the "Märchen" dwells in a rocky cave by a little
river; how he came there, or why, no one knows - the original cir-
cumstances underlying his hermithood are as mysterious as, in a
sense, his eventual departure from life. What characterizes this
hermit, however, is the particular nature of his madness - his ob-
session with the rushing wheel of time (p. 157) which roars in his
ears, and whirls without interruption - "wie sich mit Brausen, mit
gewaltigem Sturmwindsausen das fürchterliche Rad drehte und
wieder drehte, das bis an die Sterne und hinüber reichte." Its re-
volutions border directly on the spheres of eternal harmony. Of all
men, only the wretched hermit is aware of its fateful turning; in fear
that it may cease, he becomes the victim of enraged, frustrated an-
xiety and his solitude is marked by frenzied torment - peace is
unknown to him. Thus, the recluse becomes a kind of allegorical
embodiment of man, in the last analysis, alone, attempting to mas-
ter the single great force, time, the furious rhythms of which confine
and regulate all earthly existence.
Wackenroder's hermit represents in his isolation an extreme in-
dividualism which is obsessed with the problem of time - a problem
82


conceived in terms of the maddening rhythms of the wheel, and one
which grips the individual, never the group.
As the hermit weakens in his strenuous attempts to master and
control the wheel, a terrible fear seizes him, for he often senses an
impulse to interrupt the perpetual revolutions by relinquishing his
grasp (p. 159). Often on moonlit nights, he weeps bitterly, because
all other activity in life has been denied him - "dass das Sausen des
mächtigen Zeitrades ihm nicht Ruhe lasse, irgend etwas zu tun, zu
handeln, zu wirken und zu schaffen." His painful reflection is that
of a man at the end of his life, who regrets what he might have done,
had he not been swept along so mercilessly by the stream of time.
A consuming longing overcomes the wretched solitary, lying before
his cave; his desire is directed toward something indefinable, yet
certain – “Todessehnsucht," a longing for release from time into the
harmony of eternal peace.
-
On an enchanting summer night, when the landscape is transformed
by the moonlight into an ethereal realm, the inhabitants of which di-
rect their glances instinctively toward the heavens, a pair of lovers
float down the river in a boat past the hermit's cave and their music
fills the air and skies (p. 160) - "Aus dem Nachen wallte eine äthe-
rische Musik in den Raum des Himmels empor." The concepts of
night, music, and death are romantically synthesized; the longing
for release from the roaring wheel of time is fulfilled for the mad
hermit through the music of the lovers. The melody and harmony of
music are the antitheses to the relentless rhythms of the time-wheel
(or the complements of it); they are, as it were, the time-rhythms
of eternity (p. 161) - "Mit dem ersten Tone der Musik und des
Gesanges war dem nackten Heiligen das sausende Rad der Zeit
verschwunden. Es waren die ersten Töne, die in diese Einöde fielen;
die unbekannte Sehnsucht war gestillt, der Zauber gelöst, der verirrte
Genius aus seiner irdischen Hülle befreit."
Wackenroder's hermit, therefore, figures in his obsession not only
in an allegorical "Märchen" depicting the release of the individual
from the crushing tempo of the time-wheel into the sphere of eternal
harmony (music) and love, but, as "der verirrte Genius," in a kind
of "Mythos." He becomes also the "Genius" of music released from
the evil enchantment (“Zauber”) of the maddening earthly rhythms.
As "der verirrte Genius" he was condemned through his obsession to
seek control of the terrible wheel; freed from this martyrdom, which
characterized him alone, he is transformed into a kind of saint of
heavenly "time" – music, arising, as it were, from the heart of love
and resolving the cacophony of time into the rhythmic pattern of
timeless harmony.
(3) While Wackenroder's "nackter Heilige" is possessed of a
sacred madness, triumphing through music over his martyrdom at
83


the wheel of time, to be absorbed in mystic union with the harmony
of the spheres, Hoffmann's Serapion is simply insane – one of many
figures in whom the "poet of the unseen world" examines the pecu-
liarities of the abnormal mind. In contrast to Wackenroder's her-
mit, however, Hoffmann's achieves supreme spiritual calm precisely
because of his "Wahn."
The hermit, who believes that he is the martyred bishop-recluse,
St. Serapion (we cannot say he "suffers" from a delusion, for he is
utterly happy), takes up his solitary abode (like Schlemihl) on the
site of the original hermitages in the Theban desert - in reality, a
forest two hours from Bamberg. The original Serapion was, of
course, one of these first Christian hermits; he was the Bishop of
Thmuis near the upper Nile Delta (app. A. D. 350) and was driven
by the Arian, Ptolemeus, from his seat – becoming a hermit in the
Theban desert. The Serapion of Hoffmann's tale (there were eight
by this name in church history - p. 7) was martyred in Alexandria
under Emperor Ducius (p. 6).
-
The figure of Serapion in the "Novelle" is of interest, also, in
connection with Hoffmann's circle of friends (Contessa, Hitzig,
Koreff), “die Serapionsbrüder,” which lent its name as title to the
four volume collection of "Märchen" and "Novellen" (cf. Hewett-
Thayer, Hoffmann, Author of the Tales - p. 102 ff.). The occasion of
the first meeting of the "Bund" fell upon the fourteenth of Novem-
ber, Serapion's name-day in the church-calendar- the day, also, on
which Hoffmann's mad hermit dies (p. 18). The hermit illustrates
by his "Novellen," told to the narrator (p. 16), the poetic phantasy,
which is heightened by his insanity, and which reveals his amazing
capability to live and, thus, bring to life the creatures of his imagina-
tion - in a realistic manner, no matter how fantastic they may be.
This conception of narrative embodied in the insane hermit provides
the basis of Hoffmann's "serapiontisches Prinzip" of composition in
the subsequent collections of tales.
The hermit, Serapion, had been the brilliant and poetically gifted
son of a wealthy count, and had been distinguished by fiery imagina-
tion and deep insight into human existence (p. 4-5); he had also
possessed a keen humor which made him widely popular and suc-
cessful as a diplomat. Yet, for reasons which we do not discover
(and which play no role, actually, in his hermithood), the young
man suddenly vanished from the scene of his activity - to be found,
subsequently, preaching in the mountain villages of the Tirol and
dwelling in the wilds as a hermit (p. 5). All therapeutic attempts to
remove his illusion resulted in violent fits of rage and madness on the
part of the would-be holy man, whereupon the physician in the case
found it most advisable to grant his patient's desire to lead the life
84


of peace and freedom in the forest for which his subconsciousness so
passionately longed (p. 6).
With profound understanding and sympathy (we dare say, with
admiration) for the abnormal mental state, Hoffmann sets before us,
paradoxically, the healthiest example of a hermit to be encountered
in this part of the study - and he is a madman. In his hermithood,
he is completely in harmony with God, nature, and the world, and,
but for his illusion, one would take him for a mentally sound, in-
telligent human being (p. 6).
Serapion's reputation among the peasants in the area reveals the
fact that his life is, in a sense, a fruitful one; his influence upon those
with whom he comes into contact is healthy and beneficial and he
enjoys the respect of the country folk (p. 4) – “Die Leute sagen, er
sei nicht richtig im Kopfe, aber er ist ein lieber frommer Herr, der
niemandem etwas zuleide tut und der uns im Dorfe mit andächtigen
Reden recht erbaut und uns guten Rat erteilt, wie er nur kann." As
a hermit, Serapion is no shy fugitive from the world, but rather a vig-
orous man of the out-doors who seeks peace and harmony in God
through a life devoted to natural living and piety. He has built his
own hut, made its rough furniture, and planted a garden of vege-
tables and flowers around it (p. 6). Except when he is engaged in
conversing with men of his own philosophical cloth such as Ambro-
sius of Kamaldoli (p. 4), Ariosto, Dante, Petrarch, or the church-
teacher, Evagrius (p. 14), Serapion is more than happy to receive
visitors - "Ohne im mindesten von jener Frömmigkeit abzuweichen,
die dem ziemt, der sein ganzes Leben Gott und der Kirche geweiht,
ist mir jener asketische Cynismus fremd, in den viele von meinen
Brüdern verfielen und dadurch statt der gerühmten Stärke innere
Ohnmacht, ja offenbare Zerrüttung aller Geisteskräfte bewiesen."
The impression made upon the narrator by Serapion is, as we have
said, that of a healthy, energetic man at one with the world of nature
(and men) about him. As Hoffmann approaches the hermitage on
his second visit (p. 7), he finds his recluse busy in his garden with
hoe and spade. His harmony in nature is indicated by his intimacy
with the doves and deer of his forest abode - which he feeds while
singing a pious song "So schien er mit den Tieren des Waldes in
vollkommner Eintracht zu leben. Keine Spur des Wahnsinns war in
seinem Gesicht zu finden, dessen milde Züge von seltener Ruhe
und Heiterkeit zeugten." Although he prefers to avoid company in
the evening, he enjoys receiving visitors earlier in the day, especially
on pleasant mornings. Serapion's madness is of that sort to which
Hoffmann is inclined to attribute particular mental acuteness and
energy - this is illustrated not only by the mastery of the hermit as a
"Novellist," whose marvelous phantasy is distinguished by the
ability to experience, which makes the irrational a reality ("serapion-
-
85


tisches Prinzip"), but also by the astuteness and logic with which he
opposes Hoffmann's attempt to dislodge his fixed idea. Hoffmann
likes to use madness ironically as a description of genius, (cf. also
Rat Krespel, Ritter Gluck). With systematic patience (and not a
little sarcasm), the hermit refutes every single point made by the
visitor, who had digested a number of authoritative works on the
nature of such cases; and the opening words of the madman are such
that they confuse the feelings of Hoffmann from the outset - (p. 11)
"Bin ich nun wirklich wahnsinnig, so kann nur ein Verrückter
wähnen, dass er imstande sein werde, mir die fixe Idee, die der
Wahnsinn erzeugt hat, auszureden. Wäre dies möglich, so gäb' es
bald keinen Wahnsinnigen mehr auf der ganzen Erde, denn der
Mensch könnte gebieten über die geistige Kraft, die nicht sein Eigen-
tum, sondern nur anvertrautes Gut der höhern Macht ist, die dar-
über waltet."
The point which Serapion actually does make is that it matters
not a whit whether he is a madman or not; what is important is that
he lives, to his mind, an ideal life. (He passes beautifully over the
martyrdom by drawing and quartering; he feels now and then only
a piercing headache and pulling in his limbs, which remind him of
the torture endured (p. 9) - God had thrown the blessed veil of
forgetfulness over these details.) He considers his calm of spirit in
hermithood to be a blessing from above and from his point of view
(or the reader's), it is, indeed, that. Consequently, we may for-
mulate Serapion's condition as a bizarre kind of sacred gift; he wish-
es his visitor the same blessing as that which has been granted to
him (p. 14) "Möge dich, o mein Bruder! der Himmel schon auf
Erden, die Ruhe, die Heiterkeit geniessen lassen, die mich erquickt
und stärkt. Fürchte nicht die Schauer der tiefen Einsamkeit, nur in
ihr geht dem frommen Gemüt solch ein Leben auf!"
-
Hoffmann's Serapion is a model hermit; he dwells in peace and
harmony with nature and in benevolence toward the world and
men. Neither is his spirit troubled by torments from the past, nor is
the tranquillity of his ideal and stimulating hermithood ever dis-
turbed by the interference of antipathetic forces (except in the case
of the narrator). Could such complete peace and harmony be re-
alized in isolation? Though Serapion's hermithood is a unique one,
we cannot base a conclusion on any attitude of the author; such a
question clearly does not concern him. We may offer only an
enigmatic answer - Serapion is insane and his hermithood is phan-
tasy projected, as it were, into reality. He stands apart, therefore,
from all hermits of this part of our study - apart even from those in
whose development toward solitude madness plays a role.
In this chapter we have concentrated upon subjective problems
in hermithood. Without over-simplifying our composite character
86


analysis, we may divide those hermits whose background involves
an infortunate love, as well as the others, into two groups - those
who find peace in solitude and those who do not.
In the first category, we place, for example, the old hermit of
Erwin and Elmire, whose spirit after death becomes equated with
the tranquillity and healing power of nature, then, Balduin (Walter),
who finds in nature the original purity and innocence which is vi-
tiated by forces in the outer world, and finally, Lenz's "Waldbruder",
Werdo Senne, and Serapion - all, as we have seen, radically different,
but dwelling in ideal reality in nature. Erwin, himself, in Goethe's
operetta, Walter, and Wackenroder's "Nackter Heiliger" are, on the
other hand, not able to attain spiritual calm.
Certain figures in this chapter may also be considered from another
point of view - those who find a new and compatible reality in the
solitary life. Among these, of course, are Herz, Werdo Senne, Le-
nau's morbid hermit reliving the past, and Serapion. The sense of
a new, deeper, more kindred reality, the world recreated in isolation
from within, is the most positive aspect of hermithood and the goal
of this way of life - Serapion is an extreme embodiment of the latter
theme, and, as such, is transitional to the fourth and final part of
our study.
In this chapter we have examined, through the analysis of subjec-
tive problems and motifs, the struggle in isolation to achieve peace
of mind. In so far as the hermit attains such tranquillity, he does it
through re-evaluation of reality in terms of the world of nature (re-
creating the world from within). In the analysis of subjective prob-
lems, the hermit appears at his "loneliest" in conflict with those
forces out of which his problem grew and which retain a grasp upon
his spirit.
In the following chapter, we take the last step in our study; now
the hermit appears in relationship to that world for which he has
rejected society and which offers, potentially, the desired harmony
of spirit and nature where he stands upon the invisible border be-
tween this life and the next.
87


CHAPTER IV
THE HERMIT AND NATURE
In nature, the hermit hopes to find the ultimate, universal values in
life, for which he has rejected those of society (II), and in this realm
he seeks to attain spiritual calm and healing for a soul wounded by
unhappy developments in the past - nature is a refuge from hostile
forces in the world, and transforms tragic experience into a new
reality (III). In this final portion, we shall examine the hermit in
his relationship to nature, which becomes for him the final sphere of
his development in this life - a revelation of the eternal spirit, to
which he is reunited. We have seen (for example, in Godwi and in
Wackenroder's Märchen) that the emotion of indefinable longing,
most specifically the longing toward nature, is essentially "Todes-
sehnsucht" a longing for reunion with the elements of eternity.
All "Todessehnsucht" is, especially in works of Romanticism, an
unearthly and profound longing for such reunification.
―
(1) The figure of the hermit, Alfonso, in Wieland's Oberon illus-
trates many of the important characteristics associated with the
solitaries of subsequent romantic works - for Wieland is, in signi-
ficant respects, a forerunner of Romanticism. Like Eichendorff's
Don Diego, the recluse in Oberon is a former Spanish knight who
finds his earthly paradise on a remote tropical island and, like
Novalis' Hohenzollern, the death of his wife and sons had, in part,
motivated his hermithood (the circumstances of shipwreck are also
similar to those in Chamisso's Salas y Gomez, the hero of which, how-
ever, is not a hermit). Alfonso (and most subsequent romantic
hermits) is an aged man and, as such, personifies spiritual intimacy
with nature, preparing for his impending union with it in death. It
is interesting to note that several lines referring to the shipwreck also
suggest the sea as a source of eternal life surrounding his adopted
world, the island (VIII, 16) "bevor er aus den Wogen/Der Welt ge-
borgen ward-". This is comparable to the visions of gleaming end-
less waters symbolizing eternity in Kerner's Die Heimatlosen. Wald-
vater had been a seaman and Serpentin had these visions, while, in
the "Märchen" of Sililie, Goldener departs across such an infinite
sea. The conception of the sea as an isolating medium (insulate and
isolate are variations of a common stem) and of the island-motif
connect the hermit-theme to that of the island-paradise in the
88


"Robinsonaden." There is some "internal" evidence that Wieland's
picture was influenced by the Robinson Crusoe motif (e.g. the "two-
faced" island, with one barren and one verdant portion).
As we have briefly mentioned, Alfonso has a background which
might be termed traditional for the hermit (Trevrizent, Simpli-
cissimus, Balduin, Count Robert, Hohenzollern, Don Diego, Paul, in
Uhland's König Eginhard - all had sought solitude after a life of
varied and rich activity, usually spent in knighthood or a courtly or
military career). He had experienced a luxurious and active past as
knight and courtier. Like many of our hermits, he, too, had come to
consider the empty splendor of wordly ways a vain thing. He had
been reared in royal service, and had competed with countless others
for glory and recognition (VIII., 16) –
-
"Dem schimmernden Gespenst, das ewige Opfer heischet
Und, gleich dem Stein der Narrn, die Hoffnung ewig täuschet."
Having evaluated this life as illusory and barren of all deeper valid-
ity, he felt the shipwreck to be a bizarre stroke of fortune, which
released him from the burdens of courtly existence (as did Bal-
duin's losses by fire), and spared himself, his wife, and his friend to
pass their remaining years in isolation (VIII., 17).
The successive deaths of his three sons, his wife, and his best friend,
however, turned Alfonso's thoughts toward the grave, and the
world, itself, seemed to be a very tomb. To excape the silent re-
minder of his sorrow, he fled with a servant to the rocky isle which
became the scene of his final hermithood.
Once every tie with the world is broken and the deaths of his loved
ones have reoriented his entire being, Alfonso's senses are opened
and made receptive to the elements of nature and, through them,
his spirit achieves awareness of its eternal relationship with all
about him; a profound contentment comes over him and he finds a
new life - (VIII., 22)
"-die Nüchternheit, die Stille,
Die reine freie Luft durchläuterten sein Blut,
Entwölkten seinen Sinn, belebten seinen Mut.
Er spürte nun, dass aus der ewigen Fülle
Des Lebens Balsam auch für seine Wunden quille."
Nature is conceived (not only in the personification of its forces in
the fairy rulers, Oberon and Titania) as the positive medium through
which the divine spirit reaches out to soothe and heal the soul of
man.
Thus, Alfonso's abode, shut off from the rest of the island by the
bleak cliffs and dense forest, suggests the pulsating heart of nature,
itself. Its eternal characteristics are indicated further by the green
89


earth and rich foliage, which, even in autumn, are protected from
the blighting northwind - it is another world, an enchanting fairy-
land where figs and oranges still bloom, although their season is
past (VIII., 12). The remoteness of this "Elysium" from the outer
world implies, also, a nearness to the pervading spirit of nature -
Titania, its elfin queen and genius, had created the secluded para-
dise as a refuge for herself, until she might be reconciled with Oberon
(VIII., 65-66). The marvelous glade, then, assumes a supernatural,
ethereal quality through her presence. It breathes a vital healing
power, and becomes for the hermit the medium of his metaphysical
affinity with eternal life - Alfonso's intimate relationship with na-
ture is the basis of his rapport with the spiritual beyond and, ac-
cordingly, his hermitage symbolizes the final stage and attenuation
of his physical life.
As we have already inferred, the death of those closest to him had
made him acutely sensitive to the world of the spirit; through its
intermediary realm, nature, it applies its healing power - nature is
the very revelation of the transcendental. Left utterly alone after
the passing of his loyal servant, the hermit's essential spiritualiza-
tion ("Vergeistigung") becomes an accomplished state through his
heightened receptivity to the impulses about him, through nature
he reaches toward his loved ones beyond (VIII., 26) –
"-Doch desto fester kehrte
-
Sein stiller Geist nun ganz nach jener Welt sich hin,
Der, was er einst geliebt, itzt alles angehörte,
Der auch er selbst schon mehr als dieser angehörte!"
Yet, the specific longing for the dead is transformed (as in the case
of Werdo Senne) into a suprarational, harmonious intimacy with
the ethereal - natural realm of his environment, and the process of
the transformation is a recreation of the world from within (VIII.,
27)
"Ihm wird, als fühl' er dann die dünne Scheidwand fallen,
Die ihn noch kaum von seinen Lieben trennt;
Sein Innres schliesst sich auf, die heil'ge Flamme brennt,
Aus seiner Brust empor; sein Geist, im reinen Lichte
Der unsichtbaren Welt, sieht himmlische Gesichte."
At night (to Wieland, as to the Romanticists, a realm of "Unend-
lichkeit" and other-worldliness) – (VIII., 26)
"wenn vor dem äussern Sinn
Wie in ihr erstes Nichts die Körper sich verlieren -"
Alfonso feels a phantom touch upon his cheek and, in half-slumber,
he is aware of the echoes of angelic voices from the grove outside his
90


hut. Yet this consciousness of most intimate communion with the
universal forces does not leave the hermit during daylight hours of
activity, for the experience had awakened completely and forever in
his innermost being (VIII., 29) the purest of all senses (which the
poet refuses to name, preferring, rather, to remain silent on the
edge of the abyss, as he says). Undoubtedly, "der reinste aller
Sinne" is essentially "Todessehnsucht," equated, here, (as in Hölder-
lin, Novalis and Kerner) with the emotion of harmony of the entire
being with all elements (a conception related, also, to the "Fühlbar-
keit" of Werther, to which we alluded in connection with Blasius in
chapter II). It represents for Wieland the inutterable, for it is a
conscious insight into the Absolute beyond the thin "dividing wall"
(VIII., 27). The partition between this life and the next has fallen
before the hermit's inner eye, since his intimate communion with
nature in solitude has granted him a means of penetrating it – a
means accessible to the recluse alone - (VIII., 29)
"So fliesst zuletzt unmerklich Erd' und Himmel
In seinem Geist in Eins."
This sense of suprarational recognition gained through such a com-
munion distinguishes the hermit from other men; although he is a
secular recluse, Alfonso is endowed with a natural-spiritual power -
he becomes a kind of priest of nature. Indeed, suggestions of his
identification with the pervading spirit are apparent from Amanda's
(Rezia's) initial impression of him. She falls upon her knees before
him as before the genius of the sacred, seemingly enchanted glade in
which he dwells (VIII., 13). To both Amanda and Hüon, whom
Alfonso receives into his hermitage, he often appears to be a pro-
tective spirit ("Schutzgeist"), perhaps Oberon, himself, in the guise
of a hermit to do penance for their guilt (VIII., 33).
In the capacity of confessor, the worthy Alfonso urges Hüon to
disclose the source of his misery, offering to do penance for him
(similar to the theme of vicarious atonement in Trevrizent), to open
to him the gates of redemption (VIII., 6). In the same capacity, he
hears the tale of Hüon's adventures and the guilt which Amanda
and her knight had incurred through breach of trust with Oberon,
nature's royal elf (VIII, 35-37). Since the lovers had offended
Oberon and, through him, as it were, his realm, abstinence and the
purifying effect of the simple hardy life in nature combine as fitting
atonements - thus, too, a strengthening for the ordeal of faith and
loyalty which they are to endure at the court of Almansor in Tunis
(X-XII). As the dedicated spokesman of nature, Alfonso is the
ideal mentor of the young couple in their penance and initiation into
the cleansing life of his sacred hermitage. The hermit, therefore,
becomes, as we have said, a secular priest and interpreter of the
91


element through which the "Weltseele" reaches the soul of man.
He performs, in this respect, what might be called an educational
function for the protagonists of the epic, Hüon and Rezia, at a
crucial stage of their development (as does Trevrizent for Parzifal,
Hohenzollern for Heinrich von Ofterdingen, and, to an extent, Don
Diego for Antonio).
-
-
We have referred previously to implications of the hermit's iden-
tification with the genius of the secluded paradise; we have also
indicated the essentially symbolic and spiritual character of his
dwelling place – a quality derived specifically from the presence of
Titania (cf. VIII., 66) – and we have traced the stages of his spiri-
tualization ("Vergeistigung") through the increased receptivity to
the natural forces. While the suggestions of his identification with
the pervading spirit of the hermitage cannot, of course, be taken at
surface value (for Titania, the personification of this spirit, dwells
there too), they do point toward his ultimate union with it in death-
the final stage of his spiritualization.
The angelic voices which Alfonso had heard during the night (cf.
VIII., 27) were those of Titania and her attendant Sylphs (VIII., 66)
and it was the elfin Queen, herself, whose passing seemed a phantom
brushing on his cheek - this fanciful connection of the hermit's
sensitivity to the impulses from nature with its personification in
Titania lends a definite, we might almost say concrete, quality to
the implication of his eventual reunion with the pervading spirit in
death. A further word with respect to a possible symbolic conno-
tation of Titania's grotto may add weight indirectly to our concep-
tion of her as the genius of the natural spirit and of the death of the
hermit as complete reunification with it. The entrance to the
grotto is impassable; it is as if an invisible gate barred all who would
from entering - Hüon and Alfonso tempted by its iridescent beauty
in the morning sun had often wished to go in, but had felt an unusual
resistance - "ein wunderbares Grauen" (VIII., 71). The invisible
obstacle at the entrance to Titania's cave may well be considered the
ultimate equivalent of the thin "Scheidwand" (VIII., 27) which had
fallen from before the hermit's soul in his new-found intimacy with
the universal (nature) spirit (in preparation for his eventual and
final "Vergeistigung"). The curious sense of horror ("Grauen") felt
at the brink of this portal is like that expressed by the poet when he
refuses to name "the purest of all senses" (VIII., 29) - it is the in-
voluntary awe of confrontation with the Absolute which one cannot
comprehend in this life (an emotion similar to, though less violent
than that which turns Faust's face from tne Earth-Spirit). Only
Amanda (Rezia) is able to pass through the magic portal; that is
possible because she is to give birth to her child in the sacred pre-
cinct of the grotto (VIII., 75) – it is the heart and soul of nature
-
92


from which life emerges and into which, in death, it is finally taken.
Alfonso's life has its "diesseitig" aspects, however, for it is he who
instructs Hüon in the cultivation of the garden and in constructing
shelter and hearth for Amanda (VIII., 40-41) –
-
"Nichts unterhält so gut" versichert ihn der Greis,
'Die Sinne mit der Pflicht in Frieden,
Als fleissig sie durch Arbeit zu ermüden;
Nichts bringt sie leichter aus dem Gleis
Als müss'ge Träumerei'."
Through the activity suggested by the recluse, Hüon finds a means
of maintaining his oath of abstinence. For Alfonso (as for Novalis'
hermit and Eichendorff's), hermithood is a way of life incompatible
to the young, to whom isolation is highly unnatural and in whose
veins the strength for deeds yet unaccomplished still pulses. Al-
though wordly existence has no further significance for Alfonso, he
sympathizes with the young people, reading the unfulfilled hopes in
their souls and in the tears, which they vainly attempt to conceal
(IX., 27)
"tadelt nicht die unfreiwilligen Triebe
Und frischt sie nur, so lang' als ihren Lauf
Das Schicksal hemmt, zu stillem Hoffen auf."
---
Yet, the hermit's entire being is, as we have seen, directed toward its
final absorption into the cosmos; his earthly life has become a dream
and his mind dwells upon the flight of his soul into the true existence
(IX, 29) -
"es war, als wehe schon
Ein Hauch von Himmelsluft zu ihm herüber
Und trag' ihn sanft empor, indem es sprach.”
The more sensitive feminine instinct of Amanda is somehow aware
that the pious man's final stage of withdrawal from life is at hand
(IX, 29) she had been in the sacred grotto to bear her child.
Alfonso feels it too -
-
"Mir', fuhr er fort, 'mir reichen sie die Hände
Vom Ufer jenseits schon, mein Lauf ist bald zu Ende' –”
-
and upon the threshold of his "Vergeistigung" he foretells the hard-
ships which await the young people joys and trials alternate
through life (pleasures are a strengthening for subsequent pains).
The wordly vicissitude and bliss become dreams and nothing ac-
companies the soul to its goal (IX, 31) –
93


"Nichts als der gute Schatz, den ihr in euer Herz
Gesammelt, Wahrheit, Lieb' und innerlicher Frieden,
Und die Erinnerung, dass weder Lust noch Schmerz
Euch je vom treuen Hang an eure Pflicht geschieden.”
At the close of the evening on which the hermit expresses the sum
of his life experience, he embraces Hüon and Amanda in a last fare-
well, and enters his hut with tear-filled eyes. In the past, his soul at
rest had heard the ethereal voices from the enchanted grove, but
on this night Titania, in fearful anticipation of Amanda's future
peril, flies forth from her dwelling place, taking with her the baby
for safekeeping (IX., 32). In this very night, too, Alfonso's subli-
mation is completed; he is discovered dead on the following mor-
ning. The departure of Titania coincides with the hermit's death;
his soul has passed through the sacred portal, as it were, and has
become one with the universal spirit of nature. The hermit's "Na-
turvergeistigung" is implied not only by Titania's flight from the
garden paradise, simultaneous with the hermit's decease, but also
by the fact that the "Elysium" surrounding the hermitage has been
transformed (IX., 44). The plants and garden have withered, the
forest is blighted, and the entire glade becomes as bleak as the rest of
the island. The departure of the genius, with which the hermit's
soul in death is identified, robs the hermitage of its aspect of eternal
life.
The hermithood of Alfonso, then, represents the most remote sta-
tion of life, one attained only after a wealth of experience and
suffering and in advanced age, when the innermost being has been
directed toward the realm beyond; hermithood is that phase in
which the final stages of spiritualization through nature take place
and in which the soul of the hermit is ultimately reunited with the
pervading spirit. Nature becomes the realm through which the in-
dividual attains to the cosmic harmony. Thus, Alfonso's relation-
ship to nature provides a kind of preview, essentially, of the hermit's
position in Romanticism. We may cite a thought of Schelling, the
most representative of romantic philosophers (cf. also W. Silz, Early
German Romanticism - p. 8), which calls to mind our interpretation
of Alfonso's "Vergeistigung" and reunification with the spirit of
nature in death. In his Ideen zu einer Philosophie der Natur (Werke,
Bd. I, p. 158-159), he says of "das Absolute," which is embodied in
nature, - da nun sein Wesen ein Produzieren ist und es die Form
nur aus sich selbst nehmen kann, es selbst aber reine Identität ist,
so muss auch die Form diese Identität, und also Wesen und Form in
ihm eines und dasselbe, nämlich die gleiche reine Absolutheit sein."
The hermit here attains at last that "absolute Identität des Geistes
in uns und der Natur ausser uns" of which Schelling speaks.
""
94


We have seen, too, that Wieland's hermit is a secular one; his
spiritual realm is in nature. This is true of a majority of hermits in
the present chapter, and most particularly of those belonging to
Romanticism. The hermit in Oberon is a forerunner of the solitaries
embodying the romantic "Naturfrömmigkeit" which takes the place
of more orthodox Christian concepts of the cosmos. Thus, the hermit
figure becomes a striking exponent of the interpretation of life
through nature (cf. also Korff, Geist der Goethezeit, Bd. IV,
374).
p. 372-
(2) The hero of Hölderlin's Hyperion is consciously dedicated to a
religion of nature, a natural piety (cf. also Korff, Geist der Goethezeit,
IV, p. 375 ff), in which he sees the only hope of a rejuvenated hu-
manity. Hyperion's development to hermithood is the history
(more properly, elegy) of his successive disappointments with the
race of men as he has come to know it and, at the same time, of his
attainment to complete harmony in nature. In proportion as he
experiences disillusionment with the state of the world, his sensi-
tivity to the divine aspect of nature is intensified by his suffering
("Leiden"), and brings him to the conviction that solitude devoted
to the nature-spirit is his inevitable lot. The specific experiences
with Alabanda and in the war of liberation against the Turks, as
well as the observations of humanity, form the bases of Hyperion's
disillusionment and dejection, while, opposed to these, the Adamas
and Diotoma "Erlebnisse," together with his inherent understanding
of the divine elements about him, contribute to his rejection of a
vain world in favor of solitary communion with nature.
The form of the work, consisting as it does of Hyperion's letters
written in hermithood, permits the retrospective evaluation of ex-
perience in terms of the hermit's state of mind at the time of writing;
this presentation, in addition to the essentially lyrical expression,
lends to the whole its elegiac character, revealing the past trans-
figured through the shimmering veil of memory - from the point of
view of the hermit the past is bathed in the ethereal light of the
spirit with which he communes.
Hyperion's disillusionment with his age derives from the degenera-
tion of men; his contemporaries have broken the bond of naive
understanding with nature, which once rendered them complete and
harmonious reflection, pedantry, dry speculation have torn hu-
manity up by the roots (as we shall see, the plant is a profound
image of the godly relationship between nature and man). The
jackal's howling amid the ruins of Greek antiquity implies the cor-
ruption and destruction of earlier sacred concord through the per-
verse development of humanity (p. 5). This degeneration is, for
Hyperion, universal, for he is ashamed and disappointed not only of
his modern Greek countrymen (p. 6) but of the Germans, too, from
95


whom (as the revivers of classic idealism) he had expected, at the
least, consolation; instead, they had revealed to him a duality and
discord exaggerated by their specialization in industry, science, and
religion (p. 201). His own fatherland is a garden of the dead, in
which the hermit dwells, seeking to steep himself in the aspect which
recalls the innocence and completeness of his childhood (p. 9) – that
he may recover the sense of communion with the divinity of nature,
the sense of harmony destroyed by activity and experience in the
world. The temptation to engage in violent activity (such as the
war against the Turks) foreign to his nature had played a major role
in Hyperion's disillusionment and consequent suffering, for this
drive had been based upon love for the world, the essence of the
nature-spirit, and upon the desire to rejuvenate humanity through
his own idealism – (p. 6) “O hätt' ich doch nie gehandelt! Um wie
manche Hoffnung wär ich reicher.""
It would, of course, be quite inaccurate to call Hyperion a "Rah-
menerzählung" in letter form, but the faint suggestion of such a form
is, nevertheless, present. The initial letters of the novel concentrate
upon the hero's state of mind in hermithood and his conception of
nature as religion, while the concluding letters reveal again the
communion of the hermit with nature in the light of the parallel
streams of experience which lie between - the experiences of disillu-
sionment and those which lead him once more to the heart of nature.
Hyperion's most intense desire is the instinctive urge to surrender
his entire being to nature, to let himself be absorbed into its divine
ether and to absorb, in turn, its eternal spirit, as do the plants and
blossoms of the field (p. 7) - "und mir ist, als öffnet' ein verwand-
ter Geist mir die Arme, als löste der Schmerz der Einsamkeit sich auf
ins Leben der Gottheit." This emotion is not religiosity, but, rather,
religion, itself. To be one with all that lives, to return in blessed
forgetfulness of self into the cosmos, would be the ecstatic fulfill-
ment of his inherent potentialities - such a communion with nature
is the true heaven (p. 7). In this union the concept of death has no
meaning; eternal youth is its essence - a blessing which would reju-
venate mankind.
—
In the child, alone, such a state exists to the fullest extent. Hy-
perion recalls with longing the innocence of his own childhood spent
in instinctive consonance with the all (p. 9) "Es (das Kind) ist
ganz was es ist, und darum ist es so schön." In its original circum-
stances, the child is characterized by freedom, peace, and beauty;
yet, in adulthood, it is fated to be robbed of its innocence and effort-
less happiness by the perverse influences of men (p. 10). The Ro-
mantic estimation of childhood is connected here with the philo-
sophy of hermithood as an attempt to return to a state of uncom-
plicated simplicity and innocence (this conception of childhood is
96


akin also to that of English Romanticism - cf. Wordsworth, Ode on
Intimations of Immortality). The ideal state of childhood is like that
of the tender plant, rooted in the earth, and blossoming to eternal
light drawing its life and nourishment, not only from the soil,
but from the spirit-ether into which it extends. This image of the
plant recurs like a leit-motif throughout the work, always to suggest
the full relationship to nature.) The idealization of childhood is
reminiscent of that which is standard in New Testament Chris-
tianity, but, it is to be remembered, such an idealization for the
hermit, Hyperion, is an embodiment of his "Naturreligion". Hy-
perion conclusively identifies God with earth, His creation, (p. 11) –
"O wenn sie eines Vaters Tochter ist, die herrliche Natur, ist das
Herz der Tochter nicht sein Herz? Ihr Innerstes, ists nicht Er?"
Adamas' teaching stimulates this "Naturglaube" in the young
Hyperion, for the wise mentor lives in the utmost intimacy with na-
ture, and exemplifies deep understanding of it to his pupil. Yet,
Adamas feels a strong impulse to better humanity, to remold it to
his ideal and, not having found men capable of this ennoblement
(p. 12-14), he comes to Greece in the hope of discovering the genius
of that model race. In Hyperion, he finds his protegé (p. 14) - "Wie
vor einer Pflanze, wenn ihr Friede den strebenden Geist besänftigt,
und die einfältige Genügsamkeit wiederkehrt in die Seele - so stand
er vor mir." Adamas recognizes in Hyperion the naive under-
standing of nature, the integration of his being with it - he stands.
before the boy as if the latter were a "plant."- Together teacher and
pupil wander over the eternal landscape, drinking in its spirit and
discovering the reliques of pristine greatness (p. 15-16) - "edle
Einfalt und stille Grösse." Thus, Adamas reveals the character of
ancient Greece to Hyperion as an ideal to be recreated in the
Greeks of his own age and he foresees the young man's destiny, ex-
horting him to be like his namesake, the sun-god to become a
prophet of that spirit-light of nature which had illumined his fore-
fathers (p. 17). Adamas, however, recognizes the pain and frustra-
tion which inevitably await the idealistic youth; he prophesies
Hyperion's eventual hermithood (p. 18) "Du wirst einsam sein,
mein Liebling! - du wirst sein wie der Kranich, den seine Brüder
zurückliessen in rauher Jahrzeit, indes sie den Frühling suchen im
fernen Lande." The desire to bring about among his contemporaries
a renaissance of the natural harmony and "Naturfrömmigkeit" en-
visioned in antiquity is doomed to end in the disillusionment and
suffering which is, in part, Hyperion's fate and which plays an im-
portant role in his turn to isolation. It is Hyperion's destiny to
suffer, as we have already indicated, because the motivating force
of nature in him is love (p. 18) "Das macht uns arm bei allem
Reichtum, dass wir nicht allein sein können, dass die Liebe in uns,
-
-
97


solange wir leben, nicht erstirbt." It is love which binds Hyperion
to his "Schicksal," but is love, too, which leads him ultimately to
tranquillity and concord in nature (an elegiac tranquillity, to be
sure).
The departure of Adamas for Asia in search of a race of unique
excellence leaves Hyperion alone with the hope of redeeming his
contemporaries burning in his heart; he also inherits from Adamas
the urge to seek out the embodiment of his ideal – to find a kindred
soul, in whose companionship he may strengthen his own conviction
and purpose (p. 27) – “Die Unheilbarkeit des Jahrhunderts war mir
aus so manchem, was ich erzähle und nicht erzähle, sichtbar gewor-
den, und der schöne Trost, in einer Seele meine Welt zu finden, mein
Geschlecht in einem freundlichen Bilde zu umarmen, auch der ge-
brach mir."
-
Adamas' revelation of ancient Greece fires the impulse in the
younger man to revive its spirit in his own time; the Adamas
"Erlebnis," consequently, prepares directly for the association with
Alabanda, as well as for the disappointment and disillusionment
which result from it.
In Alabanda, Hyperion sees the heroic "Ganzheit" of the great
past personified (p. 29) - "Wie ein junger Titan, schritt der herr-
liche Fremdling unter dem Zwergengeschlechte daher, das mit freu-
diger Scheue an seiner Schöne sich weidete, seine Höhe mass und
seine Stärke." Although his friend is the man of noble aspiration
and action, he lacks the divine inspiration of nature; the state is his
ideal and the destruction of all that is decadent in it (p. 35) - "die
Mine bereite mir einer, dass ich die trägen Klötze aus der Erde
sprenge!" Destruction, however, plays no role in the enthusiasm
of the nature-apostle - "Wo möglich, lehnt man sanft sie (Klötze)
auf die Seite." For Hyperion the state is only the wall protecting
the blossoming fruit of humanity; not through force or the suprem-
acy of the state, but rather through the advent of the new faith
("Naturfrömmigkeit"), will humanity be raised from its decadence
(p. 40) - "Dann, wann die Lieblingin der Zeit, die jüngste schönste
Tochter der Zeit, die neue Kirche hervorgehn wird, wann das er-
wachte Gefühl des Göttlichen dem Menschen seine Gottheit und
seiner Brust die schöne Jugend bringen wird -." Alabanda, never-
theless, joins the band of nihilists to rout out and eliminate forcibly
the decay in the state, and Hyperion is left destitute and disillusion-
ed. His faith, alone, consoles him and he sees in the alternating
aspirations and adversities of his life the revelation of his godhead,
nature (p. 48) – “Bestehet ja das Leben der Welt in Wechsel des Ent-
faltens und Entschliessens, in Ausflug und in Rückkehr zu sich
selbst, warum nicht auch das Herz des Menschen?" The conception
of the human heart, its "excursions" and its return into itself, is
-
98


-
clearly a suggestion of Hyperions's eventual hermithood as an end
process comparable to that of nature, where all returns through the
course of existence to itself - eventually, hermithood, for Hyperion,
of course, illustrates the "homecoming" of the spirit of nature in the
individual to itself (as in the harmony of childhood) (cf. also p. 7).
The experience in the war for Greek independence, in which Hy-
perion is reconciled to Alabanda, produces in him the ultimate dis-
appointment in his countrymen, and causes him to give up all hope
of a renaissance in his own time. Filled with the loftiest aspiration,
Hyperion leads his men against Misitra (p. 150) "Diotima, ich
möchte dieses werdende Glück nicht um die schönste Lebenszeit des
alten Griechenlands vertauschen-." When the city has been taken,
however, his comrades show their bestiality, their unworthiness of
his high hopes for them; they plunder, rob, and murder countryman
and enemy alike, revealing their cowardice in flight before a far
weaker force of Albanians (p. 152-154). Hyperion is banished and
cursed as a common thief and rebel (p. 155). He is, himself, crushed
by the fiasco and forced to admit failure (p. 153) "Diese trauernde
Erde! die nackte! so ich kleiden wollte mit heiligen Hainen, so ich
schmücken wollte mit allen Blumen des griechischen Lebens!" Al-
though Hyperion attempts to throw away his life in a subsequent
naval battle, he survives miraculously the hand-to-hand combat
and the inferno of the flaming ship (p. 162) - "und das Schicksal
schien mich zu achten in meiner Verzweiflung." Yet, it is the heal-
ing power of nature and his faith in it which gives Hyperion back
to life, albeit resigned by disillusionment to the surrender of his
ambition (p. 164) - "O heilige Pflanzenwelt! - wir streben und sin-
nen, und haben doch dich! wir ringen mit sterblichen Kräften
Schönes zu baun, und es wächst doch sorglos neben uns auf."
The strengthening conviction of the divinity of nature which Hy-
perion carries with him into the war and which revives him after
his dismal failure are largely inspired by the experience with Dio-
tima. In her, he finds the complete harmony which he had longed
to behold in a human soul (p. 68) - "Ich hab es einmal gesehen, das
Einzige, das meine Seele suchte, und die Vollendung, die wir über
die Sterne hinauf entfernen, die wir hinausschieben bis ans Ende der
Zeit, die hab' ich gegenwärtig gefühlt." She is beauty personified
(p. 68); she symbolizes that concept of "Schönheit" which for Hy-
perion implies the perfect, instinctive union of the individual soul
with the pervading spirit. It is this ideal, embodied in Diotima,
which accompanies him into hermithood and irradiates it.
In her infinite "child-like" concord, Diotima is a revelation of the
sacred; she is nature (p. 71) – "Diotimas Auge öffnete sich weit, und
leise, wie eine Knospe sich aufschliesst, schloss das liebe Gesichtchen
vor den Lüften des Himmels sich auf, ward lauter Sprache und
99


-
—
for
Seele, und, als begänne sie den Flug in die Wolken, stand sanft em-
porgestreckt die ganze Gestalt, in leichter Majestät, und berührte
kaum mit den Füssen die Erde." (Here, too, the opening bud simile
suggests the perfect state of communion.) Her heart is at home
among the flowers as if it were one of them (p. 73). The world of
nature to her is a household in which all souls are eternal members
(p. 74) a belief which paraphrases Hyperion's faith in the return
of the heart (soul) into itself in the course of life (cf. p. 48). Hyper-
ion's hermithood becomes, in this light, an "actus fidet" and in
solitude, the hermit communes with her and nature at once
through her death, she becomes imperishably one with its spirit.
We have seen in our discussion of Hyperion's relationship with
Adamas that the older man had dedicated his pupil to a higher exist-
ence and, at the same time, that he had prophesied the loneliness
which would be the lot of the sun-god's namesake among men. We
have also observed that a miraculous chance had preserved Hy-
perion's life in battle. With Diotima, too, Hyperion had relived the
glory of ancient Athens (p. 112-113) "Die Natur war Priesterin
und der Mensch ihr Gott" - and she had pointed out his destiny
prior to his departure for war (p. 119) – “Du wirst Erzieher unsers
Volks." This would have been his natural mission, but his recourse
to violence (war) vitiated it.
The disaster of the war and the terrible disillusionment for both
Hyperion and Diotima is largely responsible for her death. Another
factor is her realization that his love for her does not suffice to fill
his life, that his masculine ambition and thirst for action will take
him out of her life forever. She unselfishly encourages him, however,
to fulfill himself - while she derives consolation from her belief in
their eventual spiritual reunion in the eternal divinity of nature
(from which nothing can be lost and in which all things return - see
conclusion of this discussion). The idealism which she had felt in
exhorting Hyperion to educate the Greeks withers and their future
together is made impossible. Diotima insists upon separation, for
she will bring forth no children in a world of slavery and degenerated
values (p. 171) - "die armen Pflanzen welkten mir ja doch in dieser
Dürre vor den Augen weg.' In the realization of Hyperion's im-
perishable love for humanity and of the pain and disappointment
which would await him in further attempts to revive his race, she
urges him to turn from men, to devote himself to the eternal divinity
in nature to become a hermit (p. 171) – “du kehrest zu den Göt-
tern, kehrst ins heilige freie, jugendliche Leben der Natur, wovon du
ausgingst, und das ist ja dein Verlangen nur und auch das meine."-
No ordinary reunion proves possible for the lovers but through such
solitary communion on the part of Hyperion. In her final letter to
him (p. 194), Diotima passionately voices once more her belief in
-
-
100


immortality and union with nature - "Wir trennen uns nur, um
inniger einig zu sein, göttlicher-friedlich mit allem, mit uns. Wir
sterben, um zu leben.'
"
—
-
The trip to Germany, which Diotima had suggested (p. 118) as a
means of seeking greatness and beauty among a presumably more
fortunate people, is a wretched failure; Hyperion finds there nothing
worthy of the name, "Mensch" (p. 206) "Und wehe dem Fremd-
ling, der aus Liebe wandert, und zu solchem Volke kommt, und
dreifach wehe dem, der, so wie ich, von grossem Schmerz getrieben,
ein Bettler meiner Art, zu solchem Volke kommt!" There he finds
no love of beauty, no honoring of genius in the artist, but only
slavishness; completely defeated in his desire to educate or be
educated, Hyperion returns to Greece and solitude in nature: he
becomes an "Eremit" on the island of Salamis.
As a hermit, Hyperion puts the thought of rejuvenated humanity
in his own time out of his mind ("ich hab ihn ausgeträumt, von
Menschendingen den Traum" - p. 209), and lives for the one truth
he knows - communion with the godhead of nature in which he is
reunited with Diotima (p. 210).
-
Hermithood, in Hölderlin's Hyperion, is, then, the state of the
prophet unheard by his people, the exponent of a nature-religion
which hopes to raise mankind to a golden age of divine concord with
its environment. Balked by degenerated standards with which he
will not compromise, the would-be reformer seeks refuge in solitude,
in consonance with the inspirational spirit of nature - there to await
a rebirth, perhaps, into a humanity which may ripen in harmony
with the garden producing it (p. 209) - "und ich, o Baum des Le-
bens, dass ich wieder grüne mit dir und deine Gipfel umatme mit
all deinen knospenden Zweigen! Friedlich und innig, denn alle
wuchsen wir aus dem goldnen Samenkorn herauf!"
Hyperion, as a hermit, exemplifies a certain pessimism toward
society; yet, it is pessimism in a limited sense, for the firm belief
in the power of nature as a religion to lift mankind to the height of
its inherent potentialities is never shaken in him, only its realization
is deferred to a remote future. The prophetic vision which, after
repeated disappointments, looks into an unlimited vista, is positive –
indeed, optimistic. Hermithood is, in Hyperion, characterized by
underlying hope born of union with the vital elements in which the
individual, the recluse, finds the spring of eternal life. The closing
words of the novel: "More of this anon" ("Nächstens mehr") are to
be taken in a deep and symbolic sense.
(3) In Novalis' Heinrich von Ofterdingen, the figure of the hermit,
Friedrich von Hohenzollern, reveals the poet's peculiar gift for
uniting realism with fanciful and profound symbolism; Hohenzol-
lern embodies in his relationship to nature an uncanny perspective,
101


for past and future flow for him into a vast, timeless cosmos. In
hermithood, he stands at the border of earthly life, where time ceas-
es to exist, and from his vantage point he is able to evaluate the
past and, to some extent, the future - he becomes a kind of genius of
history.
Like Eichendorff's Don Diego and Wieland's Alfonso, Hohenzol-
lern is an aged man with a long life rich in experience behind him.
As in Eine Meerfahrt, the first evidence of the hermit's presence is
his song, which reaches the ears of Heinrich and his party from the
depth of the mountain cavern, Hohenzollern's unique hermitage.
The song, itself, is an expression of the deep peace which he has
found in contemplative solitude; he dwells in perfect tranquillity
and consonance with nature. Divine love enriches his isolation,
endowing him with a calm of spirit which is characteristic of his
position on the brink between this life and the next - (p. 159) -
"Und ich steh in diesem Leben
Trunken an des Himmels Tor."
The trials and sorrows of the past (the death of his loved ones) have
transfigured his earthly existence and time has ceased to have
meaning for him, since he stands, as it were, between two existences
- like Novalis, himself, a citizen of two worlds: still gratefully lin-
gering in this vale, but poised for heaven – (p. 159)
"Jene lange Zahl von Tagen
Dünkt mir nur ein Augenblick;
Werd ich einst von hier getragen,
Schau ich dankbar noch zurück."
It is immediately apparent to the visitors, when they see him, that
Hohenzollern is at peace with the world. Suggestive of the placid
harmony in which he lives is the fact that his face is devoid of any
traces of age (p. 159) – “Er sah weder alt noch jung aus." - The
brightness of his glance makes it seem as though he were gazing
from a mountain summit into some eternal springtime - an intima-
tion of his capacity to perceive past and future as a cosmic whole, for
he looks from this life into the next. (This characteristic has a
bearing, perhaps, upon the book illustrating Heinrich's course of life
and unfulfilled destiny - p. 169).
In the traditional manner, Hohenzollern is hospitable to his visi-
tors; he is not a hermit out of misanthropy, but, rather, out of the
desire to devote himself to contemplation (p. 160). For Hohen-
zollern (as for Alfonso and Don Diego) the life in isolation is incom-
patible with youth since hermithood consists in reflection, its
prerequisite is a rich fund of experience which has deepened the
inner self. (The necessary tendency to strong individualism can
102


only be developed in contact with society (p. 160). Although he had
hoped to be a hermit as a young man, Hohenzollern had soon con-
vinced himself that a youthful heart would not stand isolation.) As
a young man he had felt a desire to become a hermit. This was due
to the prompting of a vague but ardent enthusiasm ("heisse Schwär-
merei"). He hoped and dreamed of finding full nourishment for his
heart in solitude, for his inner life seemed to him an inexhaustible
source. He soon realized, nevertheless, that one must bring to
hermithood a wealth of experience – that a young heart cannot bear
to be alone, indeed, that only through manifold experience with his
kind does a man develop the independence of character, which, he
implies, is requisite for hermithood (p. 160). The old miner inti-
mates that increasing age inclines naturally toward withdrawal from
society, which is generally characterized by hopefulness and a sense
of common purpose, and is dedicated to activity - infancy and old
age are, as a rule, shut out, since the former is a state of helplessness
and the latter has seen its hope fulfilled and its purpose in life ac-
complished (p. 161) - "und nun nicht mehr von ihnen in den Kreis
jener Gesellschaft verflochten, in sich selbst zurückkehren, und
genug zu tun finden, sich auf eine höhere Gemeinschaft würdig vor-
zubereiten." Thus, isolation is the proper preparation for the life
beyond.
Hohenzollern occupies himself by exercising in the fresh air and
weaving baskets which he barters for food in nearby villages. At
other times, he steeps himself in the many books which he had
brought with him to the cave. Thus, he never feels discomfort or
boredom in his isolation and time passes rapidly.
The gentle curiosity of the old miner - aroused probably by the
rich armor (cf. Walter) hanging above the tombstone figures of
Hohenzollern and his wife - draws out the background of the re-
cluse who (like so many of our hermits) had been a knight. The
fortunes of war had enticed the young would-be hermit into its
currents, bearing him across the world to the Orient (probably in the
crusades). The deaths of his children and wife had provided the
immediate motivation for Hohenzollern's hermithood. Marie had
died of a broken heart upon returning to Germany - and in the
vicinity of the mountain cavern (p. 168). A divine illumination had
come upon him and lifted the pain from his spirit, granting the peace
of mind which had characterized his solitude henceforth. It is pos-
sible that the hermit feels a union with Marie and that the godly
ray of light indicates that state of rapport between kindred souls in
the heart of nature (cf. Hiebel, Novalis, p. 280).
The epitaph on the side of the tomb reads (p. 161) - "Friedrich
und Marie von Hohenzollern kehrten auf dieser Stelle in ihr Vater-
land zurück." The word, "Vaterland" refers, without doubt, not
103


only to the scene of Marie's (and Hohenzollern's eventual) death,
but to the cavern, itself, and its symbolic properties. In the remote
depth of the mountain, as it is, the cavern suggests the innermost
heart of nature, where time almost does not exist for the hermit;
here, past and future, earthly life and that of the spirit, blend into
one another and are inseparable. In intimacy with the core of
nature, then, Hohenzollern is master of an unusual perspective; he
becomes the exponent of the apotheosis of history - a poetic history
which presents the past in the light of the future. Heinrich's en-
counter with the hermit occurs in the architectural center (fifth
chapter of nine) of the first part of the novel. As a ripening poet,
he experiences and absorbs into himself all that he witnesses. Ho-
henzollern, consequently, performs what we have called an “edu-
cational" function. He imparts an interpretation of history, which
is based upon the timeless, unified perspective, to which we pre-
viously referred, and which is his special property as a hermit, as we
have seen (p. 162) - "Der eigentliche Sinn für die Geschichten der
Menschen entwickelt sich erst spät, und mehr unter den stillen Ein-
flüssen der Erinnerung, als unter den gewaltsameren Eindrücken
der Gegenwart. Die nächsten Ereignisse scheinen nur locker ver-
knüpft, aber sie sympathisieren desto wunderbarer mit entfern-
teren; nur dann, wenn man imstande ist, eine lange Reihe zu über-
sehn und weder alles buchstäblich zu nehmen, noch auch mit mut-
willigen Träumen die eigentliche Ordnung zu verwirren, bemerkt
man die geheime Verkettung des Ehemaligen und Künftigen, und
lernt die Geschichte aus Hoffnung und Erinnerung zusammenset-
The hermit's exposition, here, is based upon his wide ex-
perience prior to isolation; he analyzes the development and char-
acter of the perspective (as we have already seen) which disting-
uishes his state in hermithood in addition (and primarily, of
course) it is his conception of history. What he had maintained con-
cerning hermithood, Hohenzollern, naturally, applies to the his-
torical concept – that is – it should be written, not by the young
but by old reverent folk, who have no further history of their own
left to live and who await only their transplantation to the heavenly
garden (p. 162). The technique of unrolling facts is not the goal, but,
rather, the poetic revelation of truth (p. 164) - "Es ist mehr Wahr-
heit in ihren (the poets') Märchen, als in gelehrten Chroniken.”
"
-
-
-
The hermit had learned his interpretation of history, had acquired
his marvelous perspective, from communion with nature in the
cavern abode (p. 165) - "Seitdem ich in dieser Höhle wohne, -,
habe ich mehr über die alte Zeit nachdenken gelernt. - Wenn ich mir
die wilde Zeit denke, wo diese fremdartigen, ungeheuren Tiere in
dichten Scharen sich in diese Höhlen hereindrängten, von Furcht
und Angst vielleicht getrieben, und hier ihren Tod fanden; wenn ich
104


dann wieder bis zu den Zeiten hinaufsteige, wo diese Höhlen zusam-
menwuchsen und ungeheure Fluten das Land bedeckten: so komme
ich mir selbst wie ein Traum der Zukunft, wie ein Kind des ewigen
Friedens vor."
As an example (although not designated as such) of the ideal his-
tory, the strange book which seems to portray his life and experi-
ences, past and future, falls into the hands of the fascinated Hein-
rich (p. 169): it represents the course of his life and all those persons
with whom he had come into contact, together with others as yet
unknown to him - Mathilde and Klingsohr. The unfamiliar scenes
are quite obviously the experiences of the future and the missing
conclusion points toward the after-life.
The past of Novalis' hermit, Hohenzollern, is transformed in his
relationship to nature and blended with the future; in isolation, the
last stage of life, he becomes a citizen of two worlds gifted with a
strange perspective – past, present, and future are, in his eyes, one
eternity. As its prophet, he is the spirit of poetic history.
-
(4) The hermit in Schiller's Die Braut von Messina is endowed by
nature (and God) with mystic power to recognize the changing
direction of fate; like Hohenzollern, he, too, has insight into future
events by virtue of his age (1. 2099) and his communion with nature.
He had his hermitage on the lofty crags of Mt. Etna; known as "der
Greis des Berges" he has been there since time immemorial.
Great importance is attributed here, also, to the location of the
hermit's abode. Since he exists aloof from ordinary folk on the
rocky heights near to heaven, he is considered to be in intimate
contact with the divine forces governing the destinies of men. As a
holy man whose senses have been purified by the rarer breezes, he
possesses the character of a seer. Because of the perspective from
his remote dwelling, his insight into life is deeper than that of others -
(1.2103-2105) "Und von dem Berg der aufgewälzten Jahre
Hinabsieht in das aufgelöste Spiel
Des unverständlich krummgewundnen Lebens."
The solitary holy man possesses knowledge of the fate which hangs
over the house of Messina and which is embodied in Isabella's
daughter, Beatrice. At Isabella's behest, he had frequently used
his extraordinary power to avert evil destiny by prayer.
Isabella had sent a messenger to the hermit to discover the where-
abouts of her daughter who had disappeared from the cloister. The
recluse sends back word that she has been found by Don Manuel.
When he receives the candle, presented by Isabella as a token of
gratitude, instead of lighting it in honor of his saint, the frenzied
hermit sets fire to his hut, and disappears, crying portentously
three times, "Wehe!"
105


To be sure, the audience, or reader, knows, prior to this scene, that
Manuel has been killed by his brother and that his corpse will sub-
sequently be brought into the palace. The behavior of the hermit
represents horror, for he foresees the terrible fulfillment of the curse
in the discovery of Beatrice. The function of the report concerning
him is certainly to add a degree of suspense and to emphasize the
fate which is about to fall upon the noble house.
The conception of the hermit praying to avert a curse and of his
violent reaction of horror to its imminence, as revealed in the des-
truction of his hermitage, would suggest, perhaps, a strong pagan,
or Asiatic, coloring (which is, on the other hand, not incompatible
to the mixture of pagan and Christian elements throughout the
tragedy – expecially the interpretation of fate).
-
The salient characteristic, however, is the interpretation of the
hermit as possessing unusual, supernatural insight into life and into
its subjection to the powers of fate - all of which he derives from the
perspective inherent in his vantage point on the remote mountain
peak where the air breathed by ordinary men is thinned to the
ether of the suprarational realm.
(5) The figure of the hermit, Paul, in Uhland's dramatic fragment,
König Eginhard, also known as Schildeis contributes little of addi-
tional interest to our consideration of the relationship of the recluse
to nature, but the poet's charming treatment of him merits a brief
discussion here. The most important aspect is the fact that the
hermit, for Uhland, represents the strong romantic attachment to
the forest - a love which becomes a salient characteristic not only of
German Romanticism, but of German literature henceforth. Paul is
conceived as a semi-comic character (cf. also Düntzer, Uhlands
Dramen und Dramenentwürfe, p. 80-81 -), whose sermons on human
life and nature have a tedious effect on the old knight, Dietwald,
but whose discourses on the forest are to be taken in all earnest. The
material of the fragment is drawn from a folk tale, included by the
Grimm brothers in their Deutsche Sagen (p. 204, footnote) and the
figure of the hermit is taken over by Uhland from the traditional
legend (cf. also Düntzer - p. 39).
Eginhard has fled with his abducted bride, Adelheit, Emperor
Otto's daughter, and seeks refuge in the ancient castle, Schildeis,
hidden deep in the recesses of the Bohemian Forest - it had been the
hunting castle of Eginhard's father many years earlier. In the
forest near the castle, Eginhard and Adelheit, accompanied by Diet-
wald, meet the hermit, who guides them to their destination, in-
habited only by the venerable "Burgvogt," Eckart (also from the
tale). The latter has literally lost track of time, and takes the young
Eginhard for his long deceased father.
Only the hermit is intimately acquainted with the timelessness
106


of the retreat. Here, surrounded by forest and cliff, he feels no
hint of passing time and life in the world outside goes on without
intruding upon his "Waldeinsamkeit."
Loneliness and intimacy with the environment make the hermit
sensitive to the spirit life which frequents the castle. There at mid-
night, the ghosts of its former lords wander through the halls -
(p. 206)
"Sie kehren gerne zu dem Haus zurück,
Wo alles noch ist wie zu ihrer Zeit."
The recluse explains that the changeless atmosphere of Schildeis
and of the thick forest about it have made his only human contact,
the old Eckart, forget his age completely. In Uhland's fragment
as in Novalis' Heinrich von Ofterdingen, the hermit is characterized
by the sense of timelessness. Uhland's hermit finds this quality
specifically in the "Wald" typical, as we have seen, for the German
"Einsiedel" and here, especially, for Swabian Romanticism. The
forest becomes for Paul a symbol of this timelessness
(p. 207)
"Den Wechsel selbst der Jahreszeiten lässt
Der Tannenwälder ewig Dunkelgrün,
Der Felsen ewig frühlingslose Öde
In unsrer Wildnis weniger bemerken."
Isolation from the world makes the recluse talkative and the arrival
of Eginhard and his party inspire the hermit to a sermon on life
which reveals the specific source of comfort for him in the forest of
Schildeis. The seasonal cycles in nature ordinarily become a taunt
for man whose life is a brief blossoming followed by prolonged with-
ering. The youth is saddened by the bareness of autumn which
foreshadows the coming of old age, while spring occasions pain for
those (like Paul) bowed with years -
(p. 207)
"Da will des Greises Wange neu sich röten,
Sich zu verjüngen meint das matte Herz.
Ach, kurze Täuschung nur!"
Thus, human life is interpreted by the hermit in terms of nature -
in the comparison, however, man must be saddened by the long
and single direction of his cycle. Therefore, the hermit finds conso-
lation in the timeless forest of his solitude -
(p. 207)
"Drum lob' ich diese wechsellose Gegend,
Wo nichts im Herzen weckt der Sehnsucht Qual."
Here, where it has been untouched by time and where man no longer
sets his foot, the forest represents earth in the early stages of crea-
tion. The elements seem as yet unseparated. Since no light falls
through upon the chaos of cliffs and ravines, even the plants are
107


lacking. Dark waters rush beneath the rocks and clouds lie in the
gorges - the forest is the symbol of all natural forces combined - the
portrait of life fresh from the hand of the creator. In this atmos-
phere and in the isolation of hermithood, the solitary often feels a
primeval, divine strength surge through him and he calls through
the vast silence "Es werde!" - the timelessness of the forest and its
revelation of pristine forces in the creation let the hermit experience
the power of the Godhead in contrast with the impotent voice of
man.
The poet smiles, to be sure, at the grandiosity of his hermit's
inspiration - at his glowing eye and fluttering locks. The humour,
nevertheless, which is implied, particularly in the closing lines of
Paul's "Schöpfungserlebnis" (p. 208) is sympathetic.
The forest represents, ultimately, for the hermit (and Roman-
ticism) nature, undisturbed by man, removed from time (as does
Don Diego's island in Meerfahrt) -
(p. 208)
-
"Die weiten, stillen Wälder, wo der Mensch,
Des Schöpfers letztes Werk, noch fehlt,
Und dort noch in der Ferne das Gebirg,
Das liegt nun vollends ausser aller Zeit.'
""
Hermithood embodies, here, love for the forest as a symbol, too, of
the timeless essence of the "Heimat;" although this connotation is
nowhere specifically suggested in the lines, an unmistakable feeling
of it surges beneath the surface of much of the verse given to the
recluse.
-
(6) The designation of the hermit as "Waldvater" in Kerner's
"Märchendichtung," Die Heimatlosen indicates two important fea-
tures of the figure. For Kerner, “Wald” is nature, a living, uni-
versal spirit, while "Vater" suggests the supremacy of this spirit and
the intimate relationship of it to all beings; the "Waldvater," then,
is the fatherly spirit governing and pervading all life – the figure of
the hermit is identified (more conclusively than in Bürger's Der
wilde Jäger) with nature, itself. Another tenet inherent in the tale is
of the utmost significance - one upon which the interpretation of the
hermit figure (or of the tale) must be based. The concept of "Todes-
sehnsucht" is a longing for reunion with the spirit of nature – for
reunification with nature, itself. For Kerner, this longing or drive,
is natural and inherent in all beings.
After having first read the tale, Uhland wrote to his friend (Justinus
Kerners Briefwechsel mit seinen Freunden, Bd. 1, p. 338-339) -
asking the question, "Sind es nur solche bewusstlose Prophezeiun-
gen, krankhafte Ahnungen, zwecklose Zerrüttungen, was man im
innigeren Umgang mit der Natur gewinnt - ?" In his answer (cf.
previous reference, p. 340-343), Kerner explained his conception of
108


"Todessehnsucht" or reunification with nature; his explanation, of
course, derives from his experience as a physician - this biographical
fact had much stronger influences upon Kerner's poetic world than
is generally conceded or recognized. Death is the most intimate
union with the spirit of nature and every type of sickness is a striving
toward this union - organic decay in any part of the body, even the
sensitivity of scars to atmospheric changes are circumstances which
bring the individual into more intimate contact with the nature
spirit. The completely healthy body acts as a bulwark against such
reunification. Dispositions which reveal an unusual inclination
toward intimacy with the secrets of nature (and Kerner compares
Novalis with Serpentin) are destined for early union to it.
We have referred very briefly, in connection with the hermit of
Oberon, to the symbolism of the sea as a representation of eternity.
This idea is implicit in Kerner's tale; at the conclusion of Sililie's
"Märchen" which introduces the story and to which Serpentin
listens in a dream-like state (much as Ofterdingen's dream of the
blue flower introduces Novalis' novel), Goldener, after long wan-
dering, is crowned by fisher-folk, and gazes from a ship decked with
flowers toward the sun sinking into the sea (p. 281) and Serpentin,
himself, falls asleep dreaming of the burning sun upon the waves
(the tale was originally entitled “Die Wanderer zum Morgenrot").
We learn from the Count (p. 302) of "Waldvaters" history; he had
been born on the barren, rocky island, Helgoland, and spent his
youth in play by the ocean which surrounded his home. Later he
became a seaman. Having returned from a long voyage, he had dis-
covered (as did Joseph in Godwi) that his wife, convinced of his death
at sea had remarried. The shock apparently led to his hermithood.
The curious nature of the life and background of "Waldvater" is
almost lost in legend and the strange saga-like atmosphere sur-
rounding his life lends him an air of mystery in keeping with his
symbolic value. Of his past otherwise, nothing is known but that
he had retreated to hermithood in a remote mountain forest – the
same forest, of course, to which his great-great-grandchildren,
Serpentin and Sililie, had been brought with their older brother,
Luchs (p. 286).
The description of the hermit's appearance (p. 283) is designed to
suggest his personification of the spirit of the wild forest surrounding
his cabin. The hair of head and chin is like moss. Bent and twisted,
and having skin which is leathern and wrinkled, he has the aspect of
one of the ancient roots which supply part of his diet. He is "uralt,"
and has inhabited the cabin as long as can be remembered. The fact
that the strange master of nature-cures, Lambert, dwells in the same
cabin is an intimation of the source of the latter's capacities and an
additional hint as to the identification of "Waldvater." We have
109


mentioned the eternal significance of the sea; the turtle which
"Waldvater" carries in his gnarled fingers is further evidence of his
timeless source - the aged turtle is the same as that which appears in
the portraits in the Count's castle (p. 296-297) of "Waldvater" as a
child and as a seaman.
The hermit's death and burial convey actually, not his reunifica-
tion to nature, but, rather, his utter identification with it. He is
buried in a stalactite cavern by Lambert, Sililie, and the mountain
folk, to whom he had been known as "Waldvater, Geist dieser alten
Wälder" henceforth he will be "Geist der Wasser, Metalle und
Gesteine dieser Gebirge" (p. 300). The properties of the waters
which drip from the cave walls preserve his body (cf. also Hoff-
mann's Bergwerke zu Falun, where the hero also had been a seaman,
and Eichendorff's Eine Meerfahrt: in both, the removal from time is a
strong theme as here, and in Uhland's Paul). In death, his hands
have the texture of the turtle's shell (which split at the moment of
the old man's decease), his neck is like the bark of an ancient tree
overgrown with moss, and the crystal-bright eyes have opened like
dew-pearls on a water-lily. The entire ceremony of burial is a strange,
beautiful rite of nature and the song of the maidens, which accom-
panies his interment in the cavern, celebrates his eternal preser-
vation (p. 301) –
"Erglüh mit dem Kristall der Kluft,
Du Aug' mit hellem Schein,
Einst finde man in Felsen dich
Als reichen Edelstein."
The relationship of "Waldvater" to Sililie, Serpentin, and Luchs,
his great-great-grandchildren, lends to the tale a kind of allegorical
quality - nature and its children constitute one large family. The
circumstances of the actual family history (p. 301-304), which se-
parated the hermit, originally, from his wife, and the subsequent
shipwreck of the parents of Serpentin, Sililie and Luchs, give the
tale its title, "Die Heimatlosen" (the theme of which is expressed
in Luchs' "Die Strassen, die ich gehe"). All three offspring long
inwardly for the "Heimat," which is the eternal spirit of nature.
Serpentin is tempted by the visions of light inspired through Sililie's
"Märchen" (p. 281), a preview of his own course of life, to leave the
dark forests in search of the "Morgenrot." Sililie, of course, does not
wander forth; as a female, she exists in more intimate communion
with nature than do her brothers ("und eilt auch bälder als der
Mann den gänzlichen Verein mit der Natur, dem Tode, zu" - Brief-
wechsel, Bd. 1, p. 341). Her suprarational understanding of the
sensitive child (p. 286-287) which exhibits such closeness to nature
and is, therefore, soon united to it, reveals the feminine receptivity
110


to the secrets of the pervading spirit - Sililie's nearness to the spirit
of nature is most strongly suggested by her care for "Waldvater,"
shortly before his "death,” as well as by his pleasurable reaction to
her (p. 295). Luchs (Kerner's version of Goethe's "Harfner") is
obsessed by the same urge to wander in search of eternal dawn
as is his brother, Serpentin.
Serpentin and Sililie succumb to their inner longing immediately
after the burial of "Waldvater." In her dying hour, Sililie, like
Serpentin, envisions eternal light, while Luchs, of more vigorous
constitution than his sensitive brother and sister, is doomed to
endless wandering in search of his "Heimat” – he is seized by the
urge to set out again (p. 307) at the time of Serpentin's final sickness.
From the distance, the tones of his harp and song enter Serpentin's
chamber, while a magnificent sunrise fires the sky -
(p. 307)
"Doch fern Gebirge ragen,
Die meine Heimat tragen,
Ein ewig Morgenrot."
Kerner's hermit, therefore, is a "Sagengestalt", more properly a
symbol or personification of the nature-spirit, rather than a person.
The poet uses his hermit, who draws his progeny after him to eternal
life, as an exponent of "Todessehnsucht" and reunification with
nature the "Waldvater" is nature, taking unto himself its family.
(7) Goethe also puts the hermit figure to symbolic use in the final
scene of Faust - to a use quite different, however, from Kerner's.
It is of importance to note that Goethe uses, specifically, four an-
chorites - not ordinary hermits. We recall (cf. also definitions in the
Introduction) that the anchorite, unlike the hermit, takes a vow of
utter seclusion, and is committed to the most severe isolation for the
remainder of his life. The ties with earthly life are severed forever;
there is no turning back and only his body still binds him to this
world, for his entire soul is directed toward the next.
The portion of the final scene containing the "heilige Anachoreten"
(1. 11844-12103) acts, in a sense, as a sort of prelude to the arrival
of Faust's soul into the sphere of eternal love. The anchorites re-
present stages of spiritualization in nature (“Naturvergeistigung”),
which free the soul of its transitory physical properties that it may
enter into the pure sphere of love emanating from the presence of the
"Mater gloriosa,” “das Ewig-Weibliche."
The site of the anchorites' hermitages is probably modeled after
Montserat (north of Barcelona) in Spain ("mons serratus" or jagged
mountain) which contained a monastery and countless anchorite
cells; it was the goal of over 6,000 pilgrims a year, and was sacred
to the Virgin. It is also possible that Goethe was partly inspired by
descriptions of a Pisan Fresco (df. Sämtliche Werke, Bd. 14, p. 401
111


and Schröer, Goethes Faust II, p. 381), which portrays the lions
(1. 11850) -
"Löwen, sie schleichen stumm -
Freundlich um uns herum
""
The quiet, friendly beasts, transformed by the sacred nature of the
hermitage, (as also in Dürer's St. Jerome engraving) are traditional
symbols of the pervading power of love.
(1. 11852)
"Ehren geweihten Ort,
Heiligen Liebeshort."
The anchorites are situated in cells at varying levels, according to
the stages of "Vergeistigung", in the rocky cliff which rises out of
the plain. Of the four anchorites, the Pater ecstaticus is not sta-
tionary; he represents the most transitional state of spiritualization
through his continuous hovering up and down past the cells of the
other three. In him, the poet reveals the emotion and inner working
of the power of love in nature, which dissipates the last elements of
the physical, leaving the essence of love, itself, the soul –
(1. 11862-11865) "Dass ja das Nichtige
Alles verflüchtige,
Glänze der Dauerstern,
Ewiger Liebe Kern."
As his designation implies, the Pater ecstaticus embodies in the
intensity of the verses allotted to him the extreme ecstasy of "Ver-
geistigung" (ecstasy - in mystical language, a psychological state
in which intense mental absorption in divine things is accompanied
by loss of sense perception and voluntary control to put out of
place, from Greek existanai): the fact, too, that he is in motion indi-
cates his complete spirituality – he is all emotion; his stage will be
reached by each of his brothers.
-
The second anchorite, Pater profundus, is closest to the substan-
tial elements of nature. He is aware of the rushing streams plunging
eventually into larger rivers and the mighty energy which projects
tree trunks into the air - all these possess a driving strength gener-
ated by love, the motivating force of nature, which is evident in all
elements -
(1. 11873)
-
"So ist es die allmächtige Liebe
Die alles bildet, alles hegt."
The roaring waters from the mountain irrigate the fields and the
lightning flames purify the air-
(1. 11882)
"Sind Liebesboten, sie verkünden,
Was ewig schaffend uns umwallt."
112


This anchorite wishes to derive inspiration from the loving force
which permeates nature as he feels it - the source of spiritualization
is, for him, in the substances of earth
(1. 11884)
-
"Mein Innres mög' es auch entzünden,
Wo sich der Geist, verworren, kalt,
Verquält in stumpfer Sinne Schranken,
Scharfangeschlossnem Kettenschmerz."
Pater seraphicus, as opposed to the Pater profundus, is in a higher
cell as befits his state; he is almost free of the physical. In him,
spirituality is in ascendancy over matter and, consequently, he is
receptive to the spirit world. The fine nuance of transition from
physical to spiritual is disclosed in the anchorite's perception of the
souls of midnight children - those children born at the spirit hour
are, according to tradition, fated for untimely death. As a tiny
morning cloud hovers over the pines and floats closer, the anchorite
is aware of the children-spirits, who, because of early death, have
not known nature in earthly life. They pass into the eyes of the
Pater, and, through him, perceive the wonders of earth.¹ The Pater
seraphicus releases them, and, in turn, is able to follow their flight
into the realms of pure spirit - this instance, too, reveals the infinite
power of love, for it is through this universal-natural emotion that
the anchorite has contact with the spiritual –
(1. 11902)
"Dass ein Liebender zugegen,
Fühlt ihr wohl, so naht euch nur!"
The Doctor Marianus, who is in the loftiest cell, enjoys the ultimate
state of spiritualization which is possible in this life; therefore, it is
given to him to perceive the presence of the Mater gloriosa, "das
Ewig-Weibliche." He is able to witness the forgiveness of the four
women sinners, Maria Magdalena, the Samaritan woman, Maria of
Egypt, and Gretchen; all four had committed sins of the flesh, of
nature, and all four obtain mercy. Doctor Marianus, of course,
comprehends the ascension of Faust's soul through Gretchen's love
and intercession for grace. Therefore, to Doctor Marianus are given
the final verses, prior to those of the mystic choir which sums up the
theme of the scene and of the poem. As an anchorite in the final
stage of spiritualization, he testifies for mankind to the miracle of
redemption through love –
(1. 12096)
"Blicket auf zum Retterblick,
Alle reuig Zarten
Euch zu seligem Geschick
Dankend umzuarten."
1 The almost certain source for this entire conception of the "midnight
children" is to be found in Klopstock's Messias, I, 1. 652 ff.
113


In the figures of his anchorites, Goethe portrays compositely hermit-
hood as the border existence between the earthly and spiritual
worlds; in each of his individual figures, as we have seen, he grad-
uates the extent of spiritualization, making his last anchorite wit-
ness to the supreme mystery of redemption through love the
eternal power which pervades all of nature. Although these ancho-
rites are occupied with religious rites (unlike the others of this chap-
ter), religion and love are bound to the conception of nature.¹
-
(8) Don Diego, the hermit of Eichendorff's Eine Meerfahrt com-
bines orthodox religion with harmony in nature; as a hermit, he
embodies heroic qualities. His natural piety saves him from temp-
tation of the flesh and his hermithood represents a triumph over
life -,
the termination of a stormy career in placid concord with
nature and God. Diego conforms to the tradition of knightly, ad-
venturous "Einsiedler" - as do Trevrizent, Hohenzollern, and, par-
ticularly, Alfonso in Oberon, who is also Spanish, and finds peace on
a remote and rocky island.
Although his hermithood is partially the result of victory through
divine aid over dangerous passion, we may consider it, in a sense, his
natural goal in life. As he tells Antonio, Alvarez, and Alma of the
outset of his portentous voyage, he describes his dream-empire
(p. 347) - "Ich war damals noch jung, vor meiner Seele dämmerte
bei Tag und Nacht ein wunderbares Reich mit blühenden Inseln und
goldenen Türmen aus den Fluten herauf -." In response to his ill-
fated Lieutenant's belief that it is foolhardy to seek Eldorado in the
world, since it lies upon the seas of eternity, Diego insists that he
must try, or else resign himself to never finding it (p. 348). The im-
plications are clear - only he has the right to dwell in an ideal realm,
who has the strength of will to conquer it for himself, to earn it by
service and trimph over the trials of life (as Diego tells Antonio, too,
before parting from him.) To be sure there is also some truth in
Lieutenant Alonzo's contention that it lies in eternity, for Diego's
Eldorado turns out to be an empire rich in the eternal peace of God
and nature.
To earn his right to the island hermitage of tranquillity and con-
cord, Diego must first trimph over the dangers and temptations of
its evil and pagan counterpart, the island of the passionate (Penthe-
silea-type) warrior queen (cf. also Ulmer, Eichendorff's Eine Meer-
fahrt, p. 151). It is, however, Diego's piety which (together with the
miracle of his escape from the flaming ship) helps him survive the
evils of the queen and her exotic, savage island kingdom. On the
dawn of the day on which Diego and his party land, the island seems
1 To be sure, these stages of spiritualization through nature represented in
the anchorites imply the final attenuation of Faust, himself.
114


-
to be bathed in the morning light of the Lord's angel, who stands
with flaming sword on the mountain peak driving the original sin-
ners from paradise (p. 348-349). The picture which enters Diego's
mind suggests to the reader the atmosphere of the tempting, sinister
beauty of the island and its queen and, at the same time, the hand
of divine providence which is to shield the adventurous young man.
Although in eventual close contact he is fascinated by the savage
queen's beauty - "nun fesselte mich ihre Schönheit, und ganz ver-
wirrt und geblendet drückte ich flüchtig ihre Hand" (p. 354) - he
never succumbs to her wild charm as does his Lieutenant Alonzo.
The latter becomes her slave completely, deserting his company
and ending in madness – keeping watch by the preserved body of
his witch-goddess (cf. Kerner - theme of preservation) until his
death at the hands of Antonio and his party (p. 330). When Diego
swears, however, to convert the queen and rule the island in God's
name or never to return to Europe, he falls into the deepest temp-
tation, for he is, in truth, dangerously near to becoming the victim
of his passion (p. 356) – “Ich Tor, ich bildete mir ein, den Himmel
zu erobern, und meinte doch nur das schöne Weib!" Yet, through
divine intervention, he survives the exploding ship's magazine,
(which destroys the source of temptation) and the ordeal adrift on
the waves; he is washed ashore on the true island paradise – where
he hangs his sword on a tree (Antonio sees it overgrown symbolically
with blossoms) and becomes a hermit, devoted entirely to God, his
benefactor, and the peace of His nature.
-
As a hermit, Diego has come through the trials of violent adven-
ture and temptation; with the death of the island queen and his
own providential escape from death, he assumes in hermithood a
greatness of proportion commensurate with the fullness of the life
behind him and with the eternal concord which characterizes his
saintly solitude. Near his hermitage, Diego has cultivated a garden
above which, on the mountainside, there stands a cross. The garden
is symbolic of the hermit's accord with God and nature - an ex-
pression of his devotion and piety (cf. also Ulmer, Eichendorff's
Eine Meerfahrt - p. 150).
The heroic aspect of the hermit, derived from his trimph over life
and temptation and from his background of enterprise and adven-
ture, is frequently accentuated by the poet. On the evening follow-
ing the landing on Diego's island, a soldier reports to Antonio and
Alvarez his having seen the gigantic figure of a saint standing on a
peak (p. 340) - "Die ersten Abendsterne am Firmament hatten das
Haupt des Bildes wie ein Heiligenschein umgeben -." The figure is,
of course, immediately identified as the gardener whom they had
previously assumed to be "der liebe Gott selber" - (p. 339). When
Diego appears, he creates again the same awe-inspiring impression
115


(p. 342) "ein schöner, riesenhafter Greis mit langem, weissem
Bart, in rauhem Fell gekleidet, eine brennende Fackel in der Hand-."
(costume here and the motif of footprints seen earlier are reminis-
cent of Robinson Crusoe). The song which heralds his appearance
(like that of Hohenzollern) sums up his transcendence over past life;
the years, which have floated by like clouds, have left him in peace-
ful solitude (p. 341) -
"Die Jahre wie die Wolken gehn
Und lassen mich hier einsam stehn,
Die Welt hat mich vergessen,
Da tratst du wunderbar zu mir,
Wenn ich bei Waldesrauschen hier
In stiller Nacht 1 gesessen.'
""
It is interesting that Don Diego's song is a variation of Grimmels-
hausen's hermit in Simplicissimus (Book I, Chap. 7), beginning
"Komm, Trost der Nacht, o Nachtigal!" Both hermits are heard
singing the songs which characterize their states of existence before
they are seen. Grimmelshausen's hermit expresses a typically
strong "jenseitig" urge; his nightingale praises God in heaven. For
Don Diego, on the other hand, the longing for eternity is imbued,
typically, with "Naturfrömmigkeit" and his spiritual longing finds
intimacy and union with the nature spirit personified as Night.
The two poems form an interesting contrast between one of our
earliest hermit figures (Baroque) and our final one, Eichendorff's
Don Diego - who, in spite of affinities with his predecessor, is most
typically romantic.
Although it is literally not true that the world had forgotten him
(he lives in song and Antonio has come to seek information about
him), the tone of the verses conveys the peace which is his in sol-
itude, when the presence of God comes to him through the night-
rustling of the trees.
The sense of loftiness, which we have already noticed in the ap-
pearance of the hermit on the ridge and silhouetted on the mountain
peak, implies not only his superior position over the life of action
brought to a tranquil close, but also (as in the instance of the cross
above the garden) his nearness to God and the next life. This aspect
is apparent also at close range. When Antonio falls upon his knees
before Diego at the conclusion of the story which identifies him as
the young man's uncle, the venerable hermit's long white beard
envelops him "wie Höhenrauch" (p. 363).
sessen
-
¹ Most published versions of the poem have this line as "Gedankenvoll ge-
a version which seems more logical, since the verses are addressed
to Night (cf. Walter Silz, German Romantic Lyrics, p. 63 - Harvard University
Press, 1934).
116


Diego gives his blessing to Alma as well as to Antonio, for, in her,
he recognizes the virtuous, loving counterpart of her aunt, the
island queen - what had not been granted to him, will be fulfilled
for Antonio. The advice given to Antonio before his departure for
Spain sums up Diego's philosophy of life and hermithood. As in
Heinrich von Ofterdingen and Oberon, the hermit's existence is not
for the young; the duty of youth consists in winning spurs in the
battle of life. Only by successful struggle can the individual hope to
attain the rock of spiritual tranquility, on which the storms of life
are shattered (p. 366) - "Mein Leben ist wie ein Gewitter schön und
schrecklich vorübergezogen, und die Blitze spielen nur noch fern am
Horizont wie in eine andere Welt hinüber."
Hermithood represents, then, for Eichendorff, the refuge in God
and nature of the active, adventurous man who has successfully
withstood the storms and temptations of life; from his remote van-
tage point, he (like Wieland's Alfonso and Novalis' Hohenzollern)
gains a profound perspective through which (as Diego does in his
narrative) he may evaluate his experience in the light of the next
world. For the hermit, earthly life has passed like a storm, leaving
only distant lightning flashes on the horizon of eternity. Hermit-
hood, to Eichendorff's religious mind, appears as a twilight zone of
spiritual preparation interposed between the setting of the "dies-
seitige Welt" and the dawn of an unending "Jenseits."
I
Eichendorff's positive and profound portrayal of the hermit con-
cludes our discussion of the recluse in his relationship to nature.
In the initial portions of our study, the hermit retreated from
society for a great variety of reasons most of them constituted
revolt against an accepted set of standards of living. In our second
chapter, specifically, the majority of works belonged to "Sturm und
Drang," a movement embodying and glorifying the revolt of the
individualist. The third chapter treated of purely subjective prob-
lems; predominant among these was the tragic love experience,
which required in hermithood adjustment to a new reality - isola-
tion was the medium in which the recluse sought peace of mind by
recreating from within himself such a new reality. Biographically
speaking, our concluding chapter portrays the hermit's relationship
to that reality found in isolation, the world of nature; it is not sur-
prising, therefore, that the works involved represented Romanti-
cism, where nature is the very medium of spiritualization.
As we have seen, through nature the hermit becomes aware of his
eternal, universal destiny. In nature, he finds the revelation of a
kindred spirit to which he is reunited and in the cycles of which he
recognizes a principle of immortality - here is his most characteris-
tically individual role, for hermithood is extreme individualism and
117


the hermit embodies man, who is never in his life so alone as upon
the threshold of eternity.
No figure or type, recurrently appearing in German literature,
reveals to such a degree the inwardness, the inner experiencing of
the most basic problems in human existence. The hermit stands on
an invisible frontier between everyday strife and the absolute, and
views life from a vantage point which places all relationships in a
universally valid perspective.
The selection of the period from Lessing to Eichendorff was not
arbitrary, for during the movements of Enlightement, Storm and
Stress, Classicism, and Romanticism, which partly coincide with,
and overlap one another, the hermit figure appears in a particularly
rich variety of interpretations and works.
Yet, he does not become extinct as the nineteenth century pro-
gresses, but continues to turn up with not-so-surprising regularity.
Without attempting to be comprehensive, we suggest a few typical
examples.
In Stifter's Der Hochwald, Gregor, the venerable "Jäger," dwelling
in the isolation of dense forest, embodies the spirit of timeless na-
ture in much the same manner as Kerner's "Waldvater." Scheffel's
Ekkehard withdraws to icy Alpine peaks to find inspiration and a
source of vital strength. The principal figure in Storm's Bulemanns
Haus is an unorthodox hermit-miser who shuts himself off from the
world out of misanthropy; he is done to death by his two super-
natural cats. Nietzsche's Zarathrustra is (like Hyperion) an un-
compromising idealist aspiring to raise up and rejuvenate mankind.
In literature of the twentieth century, Gerhart Hauptmann's
pseudo-hermit in Der Ketzer von Soana forms his own religion in a
pagan world of creative nature, while Rembrandt in Erwin Guido
Kolbenheyer's Amor Dei, withdraws into a mysterious darkness
like that of his own later paintings - embodying a relationship be-
tween isolation and art (remotely reminiscent of that in Brentano's
Godwi). Orla, in Wiechert's Das einfache Leben, retires from despair
over the chaos in life to an island in East Prussia, where, occupying
himself with manual labor, he ponders the nature of God. The her-
mithood of Josephus Famulus in Hesse's Das Glasperlenspiel re-
presents withdrawal based on general disgust for life which is the
evidence of slackening faith.
It is not surprising that several lyric poets of the present century
have seen fit to adopt the hermit-pose. Stefan George's Der Ein-
siedel is a traditional medieval hermit, who (like Eichendorff's Don
Diego or Wolfram's Trevrizent) watches a young man (here, his
son) depart to struggle with life. Rudolf Alexander Schröder poses
as a hermit in the final poem of his cycle, Die Ballade vom Wanders-
118


mann. Having rid himself of all ties to wordly life, he contemplates
eternity from the vantage point of a windswept ridge.
It is fitting that we close our study with brief mention of Georg
Trakl's poem, An die Verstummten. The poet enumerates with
prophetic vision the vices and materialism which have plagued our
era, and made a chaos of human life. For him, above all, the cycles
of nature persuade of order and immortality, albeit he is most sensi-
tive to its decadent aspect. He concludes with the lines -
"Aber stille blutet in dunkler Höhle stummere Menschheit,
Fügt aus harten Metallen das erlösende Haupt."
Thus, here too, at the outset of our century, the hermit becomes
(like Hölderlin's Hyperion) the apotheosis of the isolated individual,
suffering out of love for humanity under standards of life with which
he will not compromise – yet embodying undying hope for redemp-
tion in the future.
-
119


1749
-
CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE OF WORKS
IN ALL PARTS OF THIS STUDY
(Roman numerals following titles indicate the Chapter of
the study in which a work appears.)
Lessing - Der Eremit II
1773 Goethe Satyros II
-
--
1775 – Goethe – Erwin und Elmire (cf. 1787) III
1776
1778
1779
-
-
-
Lenz Die Kleinen II
Klinger - Die Zwillinge III
Klinger - Sturm und Drang II
Lenz Der Waldbruder III
Bürger - Der wilde Jäger II
Lessing - Nathan der Weise II
1780 Wieland - Oberon IV
1787
1791
1799
-
-
Goethe-Erwin und Elmire (second version) III
Klinger - Fausts Leben (etc) III
-
Wackenroder Ein wunderbares Märchen von einem nackten
Heiligen III
Hölderlin - Hyperion IV
1800 Brentano Godwi III
-
—
1801 Novalis Heinrich von Ofterdingen IV
-
-
1803 Schiller - Die Braut von Messina IV
—
1809 Uhland - König Eginhard (Schildeis) IV
-
1811 - Kerner - Die Heimatlosen IV
-
1813 Chamisso - Peter Schlemihl II
-
1817
1818
1832
-
1835
-
Hoffmann - Serapion III
Droste-Hülshoff - Walter III
Goethe
Faust IV
Lenau Die Marionetten IV
Eichendorff - Eine Meerfahrt IV
120


I - Texts
BIBLIOGRAPHY
BRENTANO, CLEMENS
-
Godwi - herausgegeben und eingeleitet von Anselm
Ruest Berlin, n.d.
-
Bürger, Gottfried August – Gedichte – herausgegeben von August Sauer
(Deutsche National-Literatur, Bd. 78) Berlin und Stuttgart, n.d.
CHAMISSO, ADELBERT VON Werke, 2 Bde. herausgegeben von Hermann
-
Tardel - Bibliographisches Institut, Leipzig und Wien, n.d.
Werke - herausgegeben von Oskar Walzel (Deutsche National-Literatur,
Bd. 148) Stuttgart, n.d.
-
DROSTE-HÜLSHOFF, Annette von Sämtliche Werke, 4 Bde. In Verbindung
mit Bertha Badt herausgegeben von Karl Schulte-Kemminghausen
Georg Müller, München, 1930.
EICHENDORFF, JOSEPH, FREIHERR VON
-
--
Gedichte, Erzählungen, Biogra-
phisches - ausgewählt und eingeleitet von Max Wehrli - Atlantis, Zürich,
1945.
ESCHENBACH, Wolfram von - Parzival und Titurel, 3 Bde. - herausgegeben
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Brockhaus, Leipzig, 1875.
GOETHE, JOHANN WOLFGANG VON Sämtliche Werke, Jubiläums - Ausgabe
in 40 Bänden in Verbindung mit Konrad Burdach und anderen heraus-
gegeben von Edward von der Hellen - Cotta, Stuttgart und Berlin, 1902-
1907 Der junge Goethe, neue Ausgabe in sechs Bänden besorgt von Max
Morris, Insel, Leipzig, 1912. Faust, 2 Bde. - K. J. Schröer, Heilbronn,
1888.
GRIMMELSHAUSEN, HANS JAKOB CHRISTOFFEL VON Grimmelshausens
Simplicissimus Teutsch - herausgegeben von J. H. Scholte (Neudrucke
Deutscher Literatur-Werke, 302-309) Niemeyer, Halle/Saale 1938.
HÖLDERLIN, FRIEDRICH ... Gesammelte Werke, 3 Bde. - mit Einleitung heraus-
gegeben von Wilhelm Böhm – Diederichs, Jena, 1911.
HOFFMAN, Ernst THEODOR AMADEUS
-
—
Dichtungen und Schriften, Gesamt-
ausgabe in fünfzehn Bänden herausgegeben von Walther Harich,
Weimar, 1924.
KERNER, JUSTINUS Sämtliche poetische Werke in vier Bänden, herausge-
geben mit einer biographischen Einleitung und erläuternden Bemer-
kungen von Josef Gaismaier-Hesse, Leipzig, 1905.
Briefwechsel mit seinen Freunden, 2 Bde. herausgegeben von Theobald
Kerner - Einleiting und Anmerkungen von Ernst Müller - Stuttgart und
Leipzig, 1897.
KLINGER, FRIEdrich MaximILIAN – Stürmer und Dränger, erster Teil, Klin-
ger und Leisewitz (Deutsche National-Literatur, Bd. 79) herausgegeben
von August Sauer - Stuttgart, n.d.
Dramatische Jugendwerke in drei Bänden, herausgegeben von Hans
Berendt und Kurt Wolff, Leipzig, 1913.
LENAU, NIKOLAUS - Sämtliche Werke und Briefe in 6 Bänden, herausgegeben
von Eduard Castle, Insel, Leipzig, 1910.
121


LENZ, JAKOB MICHAEL REINHOLD Gesammelte Schriften, 5 Bde. heraus-
gegeben von Franz Blei, George Müller, München und Leipzig, 1909.
LESSING, GOTTHOLD EPHRAIM Werke - Vollständige Ausgabe in fünf und
zwanzig Teilen, herausgegeben von Julius Petersen und Waldemar von
Ölshausen in Verbindung mit anderen - Bong, Berlin und Leipzig, n.d.
Sämtliche Schriften (Achtzehnter Band-Briefe, Zweiter Teil) heraus-
gegeben von Karl Lachmann, vermehrte Auflage besorgt durch Franz
Muncker, Leipzig, 1907.
NOVALIS
-
Schriften 4 Bde. im Verein mit Richard Samuel herausgegeben
von Paul Kluckhohn, Bibliographisches Institut, Leipzig, n.d.
SCHELLING, FRIEDRICH WILHELM JOSEPH - Werke, Auswahl in drei Bänden
herausgegeben von Otto Weiss, Leipzig, 1907.
SCHILLER, JOHANN CHRISTOPH FRIEDRICH VON - Sämtliche Werke. Säkular
Ausgabe in 16 Bänden. In Verbindung mit anderen herausgegeben von
Eduard von der Hellen, Cotta, Stuttgart und Berlin, 1904.
UHLAND, LUDWIG
-
Werke, 2 Bde. herausgegeben von Ludwig Fränkel,
Bibliographisches Institut, Leipzig und Wien, n.d.
WACKENRODER, WILHELM HEINRICH
-
Werke und Briefe in zwei Bänden,
herausgegeben von Friedrich von der Leyen, Eugen Diederichs, Jena,
-
1910.
WIELAND, CHRISTOPH MARTIN Oberon mit Einleitung und Anmerkungen
herausgegeben von Reinhold Köhler, Brockhaus, Leipzig 1868.
II
-
Critical and Reference Works (including Periodicals)
ALT, JOHANNES – Grimmelshausen und der Simplicissimus, Beck, München,
1936.
BAUMGARTNER, ULRICH Adelbert von Chamissos Peter Schlemihl
feld, Leipzig, 1944.
-
1
Frauen-
BÖCKMANN, PAUL – Hölderlin und seine Götter, Beck, München, 1935.
BORCHERT, HANS HEINRICH - Der Roman der Goethezeit - Urach und Stutt-
gart, 1949.
BUCHWALD, REINHARD
Stuttgart, 1949.
-
Führer durch Goethes Faust-dichtung, Kröner,
DE BOOR, HELMUT – Die höfische Literatur (De Boor-Newald - Geschichte der
Deutschen Literatur, Bd. 2), Beck, München, 1953.
DILTHEY, ,WILHELM
--
Das Erlebnis und die Dichtung, Leipzig, 1907.
DÜNTZER, HEINRICH Uhlands Dramen und Dramenentwürfe, Hoppe,
Leipzig, n.d.
-
ERRANTE, VINCENZO – Lenau, Mengen, 1948.
GARLAND, H. B.
-
Storm and Stress, London, 1952.
HEINZMANN, FRANZ - Justinus Kerner als Romantiker, Tübingen, 1908.
HEWETT-THAYER, HARVEY, Hoffmann: Author of the Tales, Princeton, 1948.
HIEBEL, FREDERICK - Novalis, Francke, Bern, 1951.
KEFERSTEIN, GEORG - Parzivals ethischer Weg - Weimar, 1937.
KERR, Alfred - Godwi, Berlin, 1898.
KORFF, H. A. – Geist der Goethezeit – 4 Bde., Leipzig, 1923-1953.
MANN, THOMAS
1948.
-
Chamisso (Essays of three Decades) - Knopf, New York,
MICHEL, WILHELM - Das Leben Friedrich Hölderlins – Schünemann, Bremen,
1949.
MÜLLER, ERNST – Hölderlin, Studien zur Geschichte seines Geistes, Kohlham-
mer, Stuttgart und Berlin, 1944.
PASCAL, ROY - The German Sturm und Drang, Manchester University Press,
1953.
122


REED, EUGENE E.
manic Review,
ROSANOW, M. N.
Leipzig, 1909.
The Union of the Arts in Brentano's Godwi, The Ger-
Columbia University, April 1954.
Jakob M. R. Lenz (Deutsch von C. von Gutschow),
RUNGE, EDITH AMELIE - Primitivism and Related Ideas in Sturm und Drang
Literature, Baltimore, 1946.
Salzberger, L. S. - Hölderlin, Yale University Press, New Haven, 1952.
SCHAPLER, JULIUS - Chamisso Studien, Arnsberg, n.d.
-
SCHNEIDER, Ferdinand JosEF – Goethes Satyros und der Urfaust, Niemeyer,
Halle/Saale, 1949.
SILZ, WALTER
Mass., 1929.
-
Early German Romanticism, Harvard University Press,
Problems of,,Weltanschauung" in the Works of Annette von Droste-Hüls-
hoff, PMLA, September 1949 (Menasha, Wisconsin).
STRICH, FRITZ
-
Natur und Geist der deutschen Dichtung (Die Ernte, Franz
Muncker zu seinem 70. Geburtstage), Niemeyer, Halle/Saale, 1926.
TONNELAT, ERNEST - l'Oeuvre Poétique et la Pensée Religieuse de Friedrich
Hölderlin, Didier, Paris, 1950.
ULMER, BERNHARD - Eichendorff's,,Eine Meerfahrt," Monatshefte, March-
April, 1950, University of Wisconsin.
WEAVER, CHARLES P. - The Hermit in English Literature from the Beginnings
to 1660, Nashville, Tenn., 1924.
123


INDEX
absolute, 90, 92.
Absolute, das, 94.
Adamas, 95.
Adamskinder, 60.
Adelheit, 106.
Ahnung und Gegenwart, xiii.
Alabanda, 95.
Alba, 73.
Albanians, 99.
Asian, 84.
Asiatic, 106.
Askalon, 46.
Aufklärung, 13.
Aventiure, 3.
Ballade vom Wandersmann, Die, 118.
Balduin, 73, 78f., 87, 89.
Bamberg, 84.
Alexandria, 84.
Alfonso, 88, 102, 114, 117.
Al-Hafi, 36ff., 43.
Alhard, 72.
Almansor, 91.
Alonzo, 114.
Alma, 114.
Alpine, 118.
Altgermanische Religionsgeschichte (de
Vries), xii.
Alvarez, 114.
Amanda, 91.
Ambrosius of Kamaldoli, 85.
America, 26.
Amor, 75.
Amor Dei (Kolbenheyer), 118.
Anachoreten, xii, 111.
anchorite, xiii, 111.
An den Mond, 59.
An die Verstummten, 118.
Anfortas, 2, 3, 4.
Anmutige Gegend, 51.
Anacreontic, 26, 30.
Annamarie, 19.
Annonciata, 67.
Antonio, 92f., 114f.
Arab, 46.
Ariosto, 85.
Arsinoe, 15.
Asia, 98.
Barcelona, 111.
Baroque, 116.
Beatrice, 105.
Bechstein, Ludwig, 32.
Bergwerke zu Falun, 110.
Berka, 59.
Berlin, 10, 48.
Bernardo, 55.
Bild der Mutter, 68.
Bismark, 19, 21ff.
Blasius, 26ff., 52.
blue flower, 109.
Braut von Messina, die, 48, 57, 105.
Brentano, xiii, 66, 82, 118.
Bruderzwist, 49.
Bulemanns Haus, 118.
Buschy, 26.
Bürger, 31-36, 108.
Cäcilia, 75.
Carthusian, 20.
Chamisso, 47, 77, 88.
Charlemagne, 32.
child, 96.
childhood, 96, 99.
Christian, 24, 31ff., 43, 46.
Christian hermits, 84.
Christianity, 12, 47, 97.
Christentum, xii.
Cidli, 60.
124


classicism, 118.
Contessa, 84.
Count Robert, 77, 89.
crusades, 103.
curse, 75, 106.
Dante, xi, 85.
Dämon, 76.
Defterdar, 37.
Devin du Village (Rousseau), 56.
Dervishes, 37ff., 82.
Derwisch, Der, 36.
Deutsche Mythologie (Grimm), 32.
Deutsche Sagen, 32, 106.
deutscher Wald, 34.
Dietwald, 106.
Diotima, 95, 99.
de Vries, Jan, xii.
Doctor Marianus, 113.
Don Diego, 77, 88f., 92, 102, 114, 118.
Don Manuel, 105.
Donna Isabella, 27f.
Droste-Hülshoff, Annette von, 78ff.
Düntzer, Heinrich, 106.
Dürer, xii, 33, 35, 112.
Early German Romanticism (Silz), 94.
Earth-Spirit, 92.
East Prussia, 118.
Eckart, 106.
Eden, 74, 77.
Eginhard, 106.
Egypt, 52.
Eichendorff, xiii, 49, 77, 88, 93, 102,
110, 114, 118.
Eine Meerfahrt, 49, 70, 102, 114.
einfache Leben, Das, (Wiechert), 118.
Einsiedel, Der (George), 118.
Ekkehard (Scheffel), 118.
Eldorado, 114.
Elysium, 90, 94.
Emperor Ducius, 84.
Eudora, 16.
Engelbrecht, 19ff.
English Romanticism, 97.
Epos, 72.
Eremit, 17.
Eremit, Der, 10, 31.
Erinnerung, 104.
Erlebnis, 18, 19.
Ernte, Die (Franz Munker, Festschrift)
xi.
Errante, Vincenzo, 77.
Erwin, 59, 63, 87.
Erwin und Elmire, 54, 66, 87.
Europe, 115.
Eusebio, 69.
Evagrius, 85.
Ewig-Weibliche, das, 111, 113.
Facetiae, 12.
Fanny, 49.
Fatime, 37.
Faust, 80, 111ff.
Faust II, 51.
Faustian, 48, 52.
Fausts Leben, Thaten und Höllenfahrt,
80.
Faustus, Doctor, 33.
Ferdinando, 64.
Filnek, Wolf von, 46.
Fortunatus, 48.
Frau Hohl, 60.
Fräulein Schatouilleuse, 59.
Fühlbarkeit, 30.
Gedanken über die Herrnhüter, 10.
Geist der Goethezeit (H. A. Korff), 95.
George, Stefan, 118.
genius of history, 102.
German literature, xii.
German literary tradition, 52.
German Romantic Lyrics (Silz, W.), 116.
German Romanticism, xi, 66, 106.
Germanic art, xii.
Germanic gods, xi.
Germanic landscape, xii.
Germans, 95.
Germany, 101, 103.
Glasperlenspiel, Das, 118.
125


Glücksäckel, 51.
gods,
xii.
Godwi, 66, 82, 88, 109, 118.
Goethe, 13f., 17ff., 25, 28, 30f., 35, 54,
59, 60, 66, 68, 87, 111.
Goldener, 88, 109.
Gothic, 32.
Grail, 2f., 6.
Greece, xi, 95.
Greek, 95, 97.
Greek independence, 99.
Gregor, 118.
Gretchen, 113.
Grillparzer, 79.
Grimaldi, 64, 78f.
Hölderlin, 71, 91, 95, 119.
homecoming, 99.
Honesta, 59.
Hörnerstadt, 11.
Hummel, 19.
Hüon, 91f.
Hyperion, 18, 21, 48, 53, 95ff., 118f.
Ideen zu einer Philosophie der Natur,
94.
Iliad, 60.
Innerlichkeit, xi.
Insanity, 84.
insulate, 88.
Isabella, 105.
Grimm Brothers, 32, 106.
Grimmelshausen, 1, 4, 6, 116.
Guelfo, 64.
Guevara, 6.
Hackelberg, Hans von, 32.
Hanau, 4.
Hannoverian, 32.
Harfner, 68, 111.
Hauptmann, Gerhart, 118.
Heidemann, 21.
Heinrich, 24.
Heimatlosen, Die, 36, 71, 88, 108.
Helgoland, 109.
Herder, 13, 67.
Hermes, 16.
hermit-pose, 118.
Herz, 59, 64, 87.
Hesse, Hermann, 118.
Hewett - Thayer, Harvey, 84.
Hiebel, Frederick, 103.
Hingabe, xi, 2.
island, 88.
isolate, 88.
Ither, 3.
Jericho, 46.
Jew, 39.
Joduno, 68.
John, 49, 51.
Joseph, 66, 109.
Josephus Famulus, 118.
Juliette, 64.
junge Goethe, Der (Morris, Max), 13,
54.
Kamilla, 64.
Karolina Berkley, 26, 29.
Kerapolis, 11, 12, 17.
Kerners Briefwechsel, 108.
Kerner, 21, 36, 88, 91, 108, 115, 118.
Ketzer von Soana, Der, 118.
Klärchen, 55.
Kläusner, 32f.
history, 103.
Klausnerin, 1.
Hitzig, 84.
Höchst, 3, 4.
Hochwald, Der, 118.
Hodefield, Lady, 69.
Hoffmann, E. T. A., 71, 77, 80, 84, 110.
Hohenzollern, 14, 77, 88f., 92, 101f.,
117.
Kleinen, Die, 4, 19, 21, 24, 30, 31.
Kleist, Ewald von, 30.
Klinger, 25ff., 30f., 36f., 64, 66, 80.
Klingsohr, 105.
Klopstock, 60, 113.
Kloster bei Sendomir, Das, 79.
Klosterbruder, 36, 41, 74, 77.
126


Knan, 5.
Kolbenheyer, Erwin Guido, 118.
König Eginhard, 89, 106.
Koreff, 84.
Messias, Der, 113.
Messina, 105.
Mina, 50.
miner, 103.
Korff, Hermann August, 66, 95.
Minne, 1, 2.
Kunersdorf, 48.
Lady Katharine, 26.
La Feu, 26ff.
Lambert, 109.
lay hermits, 66.
Lehrgedicht, 12.
Minnedienst, 2.
Mönche, xii.
Mönchtum, xii.
monk, 79.
mons serratus, 111.
Montserat, 111.
Morgenrot, 110.
Leiden, 95.
leit-motif, 97.
Lenau, 31, 66, 77, 87.
Lenz, 4, 19-31, 59, 66, 87.
Lessing, xiii, 12ff., 17ff., 31, 35ff., 53,
74, 77, 80f., 118.
Lessing, Karl, 36.
Leviathan, 80.
Lili,
54.
Loki, 1.
Lorenzo, 79.
Louis, King of Sicily, 82.
low Saxon, 32.
Luchs, 109.
Luise, 29ff.
Lyric poets, 118.
madness, 70, 85f., cf. insanity.
Mann, Thomas, 218.
Märchen, 48, 82, 88, 109.
Märchendichtung, 108.
Märchen und Sagen (Bechstein, Lud-
wig), 32.
Maria Magdalena, 113.
Marie, 66, 103.
Maria, 77.
Marionetten, Die, 31, 66, 77.
Marlowe, 33.
Martarillo, 82.
Masslosigkeit, 18.
Mater gloriosa, 111, 113.
Mathilde, 105.
Meerfahrt, cf. Eine Meerfahrt
Morris, Max, 13.
Moslem, 37, 41.
Mt. Etna, 105.
Nachtstück, 77.
Nackte Heilige, Der, (cf. wunderbares
Märchen, etc.), 71ff., 82, 87. q. 15
Nathan der Weise, 10, 13, 36ff.
Naturanschauung, 14.
Naturfrömmigkeit, 95, 97, 98, 118.
Natur und Geist der deutschen Dich-
tung (Strich, F.), xi.
Naturreligion, 97.
Naturvergeistigung, 94, 111.
New Testament, 97.
Nietzsche, 118.
Nile Delta, 84.
Nördlingen, 5.
Novalis, 29, 71, 77, 88, 91, 93, 101,
103, 107, 117.
Novellen, 66, 84.
Novellist, 85.
Oberon, 35, 70, 78, 88f., 109, 114, 117.
obsession, 83.
Ode on Intimations of Immortality, 97.
Odenwald, 59
Ofterdingen, Heinrich von, 35, 70, 71,
78, 92, 101, 107, 109, 117.
Olimpia, 55.
Orient, 82, 103.
Orla, 118.
other-worldliness, 90.
127


Ottilie, 68, 69, 74.
pagan, 106.
Parzival, xi, 4, 6, 21.
Parzival, 92.
Pater ecstaticus, 112.
Pater profundus, 112.
Pater seraphicus, 113.
Patriarch, 13, 41.
Paul, 89, 106, 110.
Penthesilea, 114.
pessimism, 101.
Petrarch, 61, 85.
Pflanzenwelt, 99.
Philistines, 14.
Pisan Fresco, 111.
plant, 95.
Plettenberg, 60.
Poetry, 70.
Poggio, 12.
romantic, 64.
Romantic, 96.
Romanticism, 34, 53, 71, 88, 94, 95,
117, 118.
Rosa, 56.
Rothe, 59.
Rousseau, 16, 56, 62.
Rousseauistic, 61.
Sagengestalt, 111.
Saladin, 37.
Salamis, 101.
Salas y Gomez, 88.
Samaritan Woman, 113.
Satyros, 10, 13ff., 21, 25ff., 30f., 52, 66.
Schatten, 48.
Scheffel, 61, 118.
Schein, Scheinwert, 48.
Schelling, 94.
Schildeis, 106.
Schiller, 105.
Problems of "Weltanschauung" in the
Works of Annette von Droste-Hüls-
hoff, (Silz), 72.
Prussia, 26.
Psyche, 15, 16.
Ptolemeus, 84.
Quarantana, 46.
Rahmenerzählung, 72, 96.
Ramsay, Susanna, 5.
Rascal, 50.
Rat Krespel, 86.
Recha, 45.
Reinhardstein, 69.
Religion, Die, 10.
religion, 96.
Rembrandt, 118.
Repans de Schoie, 2.
Rezia, 91.
Ritter Gluck, 86.
Ritter, Tod und Teufel, 33.
rococo, 54.
Robinsonaden, 89.
Robinson Crusoe, 89.
Schlemihl, Peter, 20, 47ff., 84.
Schlemihlium, 52.
Schionatulander, 1.
schöne Seele, 60.
Schröder, R. A., 118.
Schröer, 112.
Schutzgeist, 91.
Schweizer Lexikon, xii, 52.
Senne, Werdo, 66, 74, 78f., 87, 90.
Serapion, 80, 84.
serapiontisches Prinzip, 71, 84, 86.
Serapionsbrüder, 84.
Serpentin, 109.
Seven-League Boots, 51.
Shakespeare, 63.
Sicilian hermit, 82.
Sigune, 1, 2.
Sililie, 88, 109.
Silz, Walter, 72, 94, 116.
Simplicissimus, 1, 4, 30, 81, 89, 116.
Simplicius, 5, 10, 11, 28, 46, 64.
Singspiel, 58.
Sittah, 39.
solide, le, 48.
128


Spain, 26, 27, 111, 117.
Spanish, 114.
Spanish knight, 88.
Spessart, 5.
spiritualization, 78, 82, 90, 92, 94.
Stella, 59, 60.
Sternbald, xiii.
Sternfelss von Fuchsheim, 5.
St. Anthony, 80.
St. Francis, 35.
St. Jerome, xii, 35, 112.
Strassburg, 13.
Stifter, 118.
Storm, 118.
Storm and Stress, 7, 14, 15, 18, 19, 31,
53, 118.
Strich, Fritz, xi, xii.
Sturm und Drang, 10, 25, 31, 52.
Sturm und Drang, 19, 20, 26, 30, 53,
55, 61, 117.
Sunday, 32.
Swabian Romanticism, 107.
sylphs, 92.
symbolism, 101.
Tabor, 47.
Templar, 41.
terza rima, 77.
Teufel, 41.
Theatilde, 72.
Thebaid, 53.
Theban Desert, 84.
Thebes, 52.
The Hermit in English Literature from
the Beginnings to 1660, xii.
Thmuis, Bishop of, 84.
The wild Huntsman, cf. Der wilde
Jäger, Hackelberg.
Thirty Years War, 65.
Thuringian Forest, 59.
Tieck, xiii.
Tirol, 84.
Todessehnsucht, 71, 83, 88, 91, 108,
111.
Trakl, Georg, 118.
Trevrizent, 2, 3, 6, 10, 11, 18, 20, 21, 47,
66, 89, 92, 114, 118.
Triuwe, xi, 1, 2.
timelessness, 107.
Titania, 89.
Tunis, 91.
Turks, 95.
Über die Romantik, (Uhland), xi.
Uhland, xi, xii, 89, 106ff.
Ulmer, Bernhart, 114, 115.
Unendlichkeit, 90.
Urpflanze, 1.
Valerio, 56.
Vaucluse, 61.
Vaterland, 103.
Verenus, 76.
Vergeistigung, 90, 92, 94, 112.
Vermächtnis des Arztes, Das, 72.
Vicar of Wakefield (Goldsmith), 56.
Virgil, xi.
Virgin and Child, 73.
Voltaire, 13.
Wackenroder, 71, 82, 84, 87f.
Wahn, 60.
Wahnsinn, 70, 79.
Waldbruder, Der, 59ff., 66, 87.
Waldeinsamkeit, 107.
Waldner, Henriette von, 59.
Waldvater, 36, 88, 108ff., 118.
Wanderer zum Morgenrot, Die, 109.
Walter, 72, 78ff., 87, 103.
Wanderer, xi.
Wanderers Nachtlied, 59.
Weaver, Charles P., cf. The Hermit in
English Literature, etc.
Wellner, 66.
Weltseele, 92.
Walzel, Oskar, 48.
Werther, 19, 29, 30, 59, 60.
Westphalian, 32.
Widukind, 32.
Wiechert, Ernst, 118.
129


Wild- und, 60, 88ff., 102, 117.
Wild, 26ff.
Wild- und Rheingraf, 32.
wilde Jäger, Der, 31ff., 108.
Wilhelm Meister, 68.
Wodan, 32.
Wolfram, 1, 4, 6, 118.
Wordsworth, 97.
Wulff, Fredrik, 61.
Wüstenväter, 53.
wütendes Heer, 32.
Zarathrustra, 118.
Zukunft, 105.
Zwillinge, Die, 64-66.
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